


Painted Wings and Giant Rings

by nafs (nafio)



Series: Painted Wings and Giant Rings [3]
Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, Panic At The Disco
Genre: Bandom Big Bang 2010, Community: bandombigbang, Dragons, F/M, Gen, Illnesses, M/M, Multi, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-26
Updated: 2010-06-26
Packaged: 2017-10-10 14:24:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 38,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/100746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nafio/pseuds/nafs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ryan has always known that someday he was going to have to let Spencer go, so that Spencer could find his chiropteric mate. As the Rock Band tour goes to hell and Panic starts falling apart, Ryan gives Spencer his space and Spencer gives Ryan his freedom. Only that's not what either of them really wants or needs</p>
            </blockquote>





	Painted Wings and Giant Rings

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks and hugs and a million other things go to my amazing cheerleader and primary beta in_decisions without whom this definitely wouldn't have been finished. Other invaluable betas were sperrywink and mibulusmimbletonia. I also got a couple of technical details from greenbirds and starafar. The title, and the impetus to write this all down, comes from whoyouinvent.Thanks also goes to the small group of five or six who saw excerpts of a very early version of this before Ryan Ross completely screwed with canon and made my life hard.
> 
> Last but definitely not least, many many thanks to amkave for her lovely art and to inteligrrl for her awesome mix.  
> Fanart is [here](http://nafs.dreamwidth.org/545936.html)  
> Fanmix is [here](http://nafs.dreamwidth.org/546271.html)

"Okay, I have one, two, three little birdies." Zack announces, doing his usual nightly headcount before ushering them to the bus. "I should have four. Where's Ryan?"

Still on his post-show high, it takes Spencer a moment to realize everyone's looking at him for an answer. He blinks. "Wasn't he here, two seconds ago?"

"I don't care about two seconds ago, Smith." Zack tells him patiently. "I care about now. Can't you do your freaky mind thing and just..." Zack makes a vague gesture which Spencer takes to mean "magically summon Ryan from wherever he is".

He's about to say "no, I have no idea where Ryan is", when Ryan trots in, looking perky and ready to go. Zack beams at Spencer benevolently and herds them out of the venue.

"Dude, where were you?" Spencer whispers once they're on the bus. Ryan looks at him blankly.

"There was a thing." He says, as if Spencer should know exactly what he's talking about. "I just needed to check on it. Didn't you see me? I pointed before I left."

Spencer rolls his eyes and pokes Ryan in the shoulder. "Maybe next time use your *words*, Ross."

Spencer is fairly sure the Rock Band Live tour is not going to go down in memory as his favourite tour ever. The music is fine, and the crowd energy has been pretty good but everything else is off. The crowds are smaller than they should be, and at some venues he knows the numbers shrink a lot after Dashboard Confessional finishes their set. Zack is going nuts over a ton of little nitpicky details that all seem to be going wrong at once. Those aren't the big things, but those are the ones he can point to, define, say "here's what's wrong".

If he was to say to an outsider, maybe anyone but Zack, that there are intra-band problems, he wouldn't know how to explain what's going wrong. When he lies awake at some stupid hour considering the whole thing, it just sounds like he's making a mountain out of a molehill. But other times, other times he knows he's not.

Ryan and Jon have been songwriting together. It's a new thing, writing on buses and in odd venue spaces, but it's one they've discussed, making a conscious effort to keep the music flowing. That Ryan has been pretty secretive about what he's come up with isn't new. That he's only sharing it with Jon is. Of course maybe it's just that when Ryan and Brendon write together, Brendon can't stop humming the new stuff to save his life. Jon is quieter.

Spencer knows better than to push. If there was a book on How to Manage Ryan Ross, "Thou shalt not press Ryan when he's working on new material" would be a whole chapter. Ryan will share when he's ready, probably once tour is over, and then there will be nitpicking and yelling and generally a whole bunch of creative "discussion" as they get ready to head into the studio and start the next album.

Except that time seems so far away, and Spencer wants the air cleared *now*. Tour is winding down and nobody's actually talking about what comes next. Jon's got plans for Christmas in Chicago, of course, and everybody moans about missing their various pets, but the future of the band seems to be a taboo subject.

He'd complain that he never sees Ryan anymore but that's stupid, and patently untrue. They spend each night onstage together after all, and Ryan always turns back to share a joke or a comment, or just a happy grin of "how is this our life?". All four of them pile into the bus lounge together to smoke up most days, sometimes more than once a day, even. They have long rambling conversations while they're stoned, and everything seems at peace with the world then.

It's just that if Spencer thinks about it when he's sober and awake at a stupid hour, it's been a long fucking time since he's had a real conversation with Ryan while they were both sober. He doesn't know what exactly he'd *say* in a theoretical non-stoned talk with his best friend, so it seems stupid to complain about it, but it still bugs him. Ryan's *right there* and yet sometimes it feels like he's drifting away.

Eventually, about two weeks before the end of tour, Brendon sits down next to him and says, "Can you please talk to him before *I* have to talk to him? Because it was established about two minutes after I joined this band that I am not allowed to talk to Ryan Ross about Ross-Smith relations, and if I break that rule it's going to get really ugly."

"Talk to him about what?" Spencer protests.

"Fuck, I don't know, Spence. *Something*. You two are weirding me out."

"Yeah because we're the weirdest thing about this tour."

"No, but you're probably the easiest thing to fix. Go soothe the savage Ryan. It's not like you haven't done it a million times before."

Spencer dearly wants to ask "But what if I can't?" but he keeps his mouth shut. Brendon's looking manic and determined and that's never good.

Instead, he plucks up his courage and arranges things so he's rooming with Ryan at their next hotel night.

Ryan looks a little surprised when he sees who's dumping a knapsack on the bed beside his, but he doesn't comment.

"Just you and me tonight, kid." Spencer says, stretching out on top of the bedspread. "Time for another legendary Ross-Smith sleepover."

Ryan snorts.

"Fuck you, they were totally legendary. Granted, it's not exactly the same when there are two beds and nobody's climbing in anyone else's window, but still. Don't you think it's time we talked?"

"I know we smoked a lot of pot, but I'm pretty sure that was us talking about the advantages of unicorns versus zebras for like, half an hour yesterday."

"See, this is what I'm talking about. It's been so long since we talked that you've forgotten I *know* you, Ryan, and I know when you're actually being obtuse and when you're bullshitting me."

Ryan lies back on his bed, avoiding Spencer's eyes. Apparently they're going to do this the really hard way.

"I get that you're writing stuff with Jon that you don't think Brendon is going to like." Ryan stiffens and Spencer has to stifle a fond laugh. Ryan still thinks he's good at subtle. "I've already warned Pete to expect an extra couple of months of yelling time even before we get into the studio. It's not like he wasn't already expecting something."

"What I don't get," he continues, "Is why you're avoiding *me*. We're still sharing a bus, and you still seem pretty happy with me onstage, so that means you're not mad. You're still hanging around with Jon and Zack and even Brendon when songwriting's not involved, so you're not sad about something. I haven't had any calls from Keltie or Pete about you, so you're not waiting for me to lecture you over something dumb you've done. I'm running out of ideas here, Ryan. Gimme a clue."

There's a long silence. Ryan apparently finds the ceiling extremely interesting. Spencer's about to give up and head to the bathroom for a shower when Ryan finally sits up.

"You ever think," he says in a hard-edged voice, his eyes stormy. "Maybe we're just growing apart? I know you love to dissect my brain like a frog in tenth grade science, but maybe you don't know me so well anymore, Spencer. We're not the same little kids in your backyard, or the teenagers in the skate park. Maybe it's time you let it go, huh?"

Spencer stands there open-mouthed. His stomach hurts. There's a flash of what looks like regret on Ryan's face before he pushes himself off his bed and grabs his bags.

"I'm gonna switch with Brendon," he mutters on his way to the door.

Spencer wants to move, grab his arm, say *something*, but he can't. When Brendon comes in two minutes later, the sympathy on his face is horrible to see. Spencer marches into the bathroom and pretends he's not crying in the shower.

Ryan looks a little sorry on the bus the next morning, but Brendon and Jon clearly have some sort of agreement about keeping them apart for the good of the tour. It's still only three days before they stop at an IHOP for breakfast and Spencer rolls out of the bus late to find that Ryan's already ordered all of Spencer's favourite breakfast foods for him. Spencer manages to smile and eat his breakfast, and he can feel the others breathe a sigh of relief. Ryan still stays quiet though, and Spencer can't find the courage to try talking to him again.

Spencer spends a lot of time backstage working on the fastest, most complicated fills and beats he can come up with to keep his mind off of things. It sort of works, especially once Brendon hears and starts working on arrangements to go with them. It's difficult to play drums, follow Brendon's mile-a-minute brainstorming and contemplate when Ryan and Spencer moved from best friends to "just friends", and why Spencer didn't notice.

On the last day of tour, when there still aren't even vague plans to get together in the studio and Ryan's been making noises about moving out of Las Vegas (and out of easy nagging distance), Spencer decides it's now or never and corners Ryan in the back lounge of the bus.

"You know when we were planning this tour we all said there were two options – an awesome tour followed by more touring after New Year's, or a sucky tour followed by more recording after New Year's. You want to tell me why you haven't even hinted at a studio we should record at, or a producer you want to work with?"

Ryan crosses his arms and turns to face the windows. "Did Brendon tell you to ask that?"

Spencer settles himself on the couch, making sure the good throwing pillows are within arm's reach. "No, actually, I came up with it all by myself."

"Maybe we're not ready to record, Spencer." Ryan says, shoulders high and tight. Spencer can see he's scared about something. He's also lying.

"Well, that doesn't make much sense." Spencer drawls. "You and Jon have been working on songs all tour, and Brendon's got at least five or six interesting ones too. We've got enough to start preproduction, or at least arguing about preproduction."

Ryan scowls and flings himself down on the opposite couch. Knowing that Brendon will kill him if Ryan sulks through soundcheck, Spencer keeps going.

"You do *want* to record the new stuff, don't you?"

"Yeah." Ryan picks at a loose thread on the upholstery. "Of course."

"But...?"

"You'll think it's stupid."

Spencer had started wondering if Ryan still trusted him enough to let him hear that particular small, scared voice, a voice he usually hates to hear. A knot inside loosens a little. He reaches over to nudge at Ryan's knee with one foot. "Just because I'm going to laugh in your face doesn't mean I won't help you find a way to fix it, you moron."

"Fuck you very much."

"Ryan." Best friend or no best friend, it's definitely time for cuddling. Spencer switches couches.

Ryan allows it. "I started thinking."

"Yeah, that's where you usually go wrong." Spencer ruffles his hair fondly.

"Spence." Ryan slaps at a shoulder but doesn't move away from Spencer's hug. "If we go into the studio next year we probably won't have an album until 2010."

"And?"

"And then we'd have to tour for it. That's another year and a half, right? So we'd end in like, 2011, maybe early 2012."

"Sounds right." This is more forward-thinking than Ryan usually gets, but Spencer gives him points for logic, even if he doesn't really get the point yet.

"You'd be twenty-four by then, Spence." Real worry has crept into Ryan's voice. "When are you going to have time to Search?"

Spencer sits back a little. It's been a long time since the secret of Spencer's heritage came up. He still hasn't told Brendon and Jon about the whole being-a-chiroptera thing. He certainly hasn't thought much about Searching for a mate yet. He won't need to until he starts to shape-shift, and that won't happen until he's at least twenty-five. "*That's* what this is about?"

Ryan folds his arms across his chest defiantly. He's read the diary that Spencer's great-great-great grandparents left him almost as often as Spencer has, but neither of them have looked at in a while. Spencer didn't even bring a copy with him this tour.

"I think you're banned from reading the diary for a while, kid." Spencer pretends amusement, but he's a little worried. Ryan doesn't usually absorb this kind of detail unless he's in the grip of one of his obsessions. When did he miss the signs about this one? Maybe Ryan's not wrong about them growing apart. On the other hand, this obsession is about *Spencer* and that's more than a little weird.

"Spencer, this is serious!"

"Ryan. We are not postponing an album for four years or more because of what is basically a quirk of my sex life."

"It's not a quirk, you could *die*!"

"I could also get hit by a falling stage light tonight." It's a joke, Spencer knows the guys on their crew are experienced professionals, but Ryan gets even more tense.

"It's not funny."

"Ryan, I've been twenty-one for less than ninety days," Spencer says. Logic doesn't usually work on Ryan, but sometimes if Spencer finds the right tone of voice, he can talk him down. "I still haven't figured out if I'm a Protector or a Supportive yet, much less when and how I'm going to Search. Hell, I'm still dating Haley." This really isn't something Spencer's ready to talk about. He knows that at some point he's going to have to break up with Haley, but she's his best friend outside of the band and Spencer's not looking forward to the day that all ends.

"But Pete and Patrick..."

"Oh my God, have you been listening to Pete's horror stories again? Pete Wentz is, as usual, a very special case and what happened to him has pretty much nothing to do with me. Please never again bring Pete into a discussion of my sex life. Or better yet, let's stop discussing my sex life."

"I wouldn't have to discuss your sex life, if your sex life wasn't a matter of life and death. You could still Shift early. It's not that rare." Ryan insists stubbornly. "What if you Shift at twenty-three? We could be in the middle of tour! Fuck, we could be *on stage*..."

"You're being ridiculous, Ross."

"Fuck you I'm being ridiculous. You've got your head in the sand. You could put your whole life, your career, the whole *band* in jeopardy."

"Is *that* what this is about?" Suddenly the lounge is way too small for Spencer. He stands up. "You're worried I'll fuck up the band? You need me to slot things into a schedule so you can get Pete to arrange some sort of PR campaign to cover up the fact that the drummer of Panic at the Disco isn't exactly *human*?"

"Fuck. Spencer, I didn't mean it like *that*."

"Yeah, well forgive me if I don't want to stick around and hear what else you've got to say." The lock slips open too easily, and the door isn't made for any sort of satisfying slamming action. Ryan doesn't try to follow, but even the front of the bus isn't far enough away.

  
**   
_#####_   
**   


Despite everything, despite the illogic, despite how much it feels like admitting Ryan might be right, Spencer can't help thinking about Search. It isn't like there's much else to do except Christmas shop and one month of shopping days left or not, Spencer was never good with malls directly after tour. Double for Christmas malls. Instead, he finds himself lifting up the phone to call Patrick.

"Hey," he says, a little helplessly. "You said there's a website for Searchers now?"

Since Patrick went through the most complicated Courtship known to chiropteri, and only partly because his Supportive is Pete Wentz, he knows better than to ask stupid questions. It takes him a day to dig up the information again, but soon the URL is in Spencer's mailbox.

Spencer stares at it for several minutes before closing down his computer and taking the dogs for a walk.

He's still living in the house he shares with Haley. Part of him feels like even looking at that site would be a little like cheating. He'd known going into the relationship that, barring the unlikely idea that Haley was a chiroptera too, it had an end date, but he'd buried that knowledge deep. Haley is fun, a good listener, and generally easy to be with. She's awesome. He's not really ready to give that up yet.

Of course, now that Haley's in college, things are different. On paper, they share a house, but Haley's actually been in it less than Spencer has since September. She lives in residence and he lives on a bus and the poor house was kind of neglected-feeling when Spencer dropped his bags in the front hall after tour. But most of their relationship has been long-distance, this is just a new twist. They're still good, right?

When even the dogs' high spirits can't distract him from this kind of thinking, Spencer pulls out his phone and calls Haley. Instead of a reassuring voice on the line, he gets voicemail.

"Hey, this is Haley. I'm either too busy studying or too busy partying to pick up the phone right now. Just kidding, mom. I'm studying, I swear. Leave your message after the beep and maybe I'll get to it, if all these papers don't kill me first. Bye!"

For a second, Spencer has no idea what to say. "Uh... Hey, it's me. Just checking to see how you're doing. Well... Call me back." He finishes, feeling lame.

He doesn't know who else to call. Usually with a chiropteric problem he'll either go to the diary, or to Patrick, or on last resort, Pete. But he knows what all of them will tell him. That twenty-one is way too young for Search. That most chiroptera kids date before they Shift. That even if it's too early there's no harm in doing a little research. Patrick especially has the philosophy that you can't possibly know too much.

He takes the dogs back home and lets them play out in the back yard. His laptop is just beginning to call his name from the kitchen table when the phone rings. It's Brendon.

"Hey, new home-owner." Spencer greets him. "You know this isn't a take-out joint, right?"

"Very funny Spencer Smith." Brendon says, warm and enthusiastic. "I am totally capable of feeding myself. Or at least of dialing the right number when I want pizza."

"So you're calling me on purpose? I'm honored." Ignoring the siren call of the laptop Spencer heads outside. "What's up?"

"I have found the flaw in my awesome plan. The only people I know in L.A. are Pete and Patrick. For some strange reason, they're both on tour."

Spencer laughs. "You mean, they're out playing music and promoting their new album? Yeah, that's weird."

"Yes, I thought so. Therefore, I have called on you, my dear Spencer, to entertain me for the next however long until I get bored."

Spencer could suggest Brendon watch tv but he's seen the pictures of the new place and has an idea what's wrong. Brendon's more okay on his own than people think, he does actually like to have quiet times, but that house is too big, not to mention too new and too empty, for just one person.

He makes Brendon beg, of course, but the distraction is a welcome one, and it's easy to spend a couple of hours on the phone filling him in on the Smith family gossip, the latest things the dogs have done, and Spencer's opinion on the latest Food Network shows.

Three o'clock that morning he wakes up, opens his laptop, and clicks on the link.

The front page pretends to be a site for some sort of on-line role playing game, but it asks all "players" to "create a character". When prompted Spencer puts in his full name, his e-mail, his state of residence, the name of his line (McLaughlin), and the name of the last Protector and Supportive in his line. He spares a moment to wonder how other people like him and Patrick, where the shape-shifting gene has skipped several generations, are expected to know all this. Patrick's ancestors didn't leave a handy book of instructions for *their* descendants after all. Curious, he clicks on the little question mark next to "Protector" and finds a handy little note telling him that those who are "new to the game" can just enter the name of the person who gave them the URL.

His cursor hovers over the Submit button for a while, and he actually checks his phone messages to see if Haley has called him back before finally clicking. After all that, he's only taken to a page that says "Thank you!" and informs him that the moderators will be in touch. He almost calls Ryan up to complain that even when they're not speaking to each other, Ryan is driving him crazy. Still, it's done and he can't take it back. He is all but officially registered as a chiroptera who is eligible to Search. Feeling strangely relieved, he falls back to sleep.

Two days later, Spencer has almost managed to convince himself that he dreamed his witching hour visit to the Search website. Naturally, that's when he gets the email. It's not a "welcome" email, or even an "access denied" email. Instead it's a very polite email which points out that according to their records the Protector and Supportive that he listed are deceased and would he mind submitting the names of a currently living pair or individual who could sponsor him "into the game".

It's a fair enough request. People find all sorts of stuff through Google searches and probably people have tried to bluff their way into the "game" they've stumbled onto before. Of course it gives him another opportunity to put things off. This time he only dithers for a few hours before calling up Patrick again.

"Hey Spencer. Is this musical or dragon-related?" One of the major points of etiquette repeated several times by Spencer's great great great grandparents is that no matter how much they may resemble one popular conception of dragons, chiropteri are *not* dragons, and using the term "dragon" is a major insult. Patrick apparently gets a free pass because Pete knew how much it would piss off his mother if she ever heard it, and, at the time, Pete and Patrick were taking the small victories where they could get them.

"Chiropteri-related." Spencer says. (His ancestors stressed the point *a lot*). He feels a little twinge of guilt at that because Patrick would pretty much always prefer to talk about music, but Spencer almost never calls about things that are music-related. Patrick hasn't ever seemed to mind acting as Spencer's living mentor in things chiropteric. By the end of most conversations, the topic has drifted back to music again anyway. He makes sure not to dump his actual band problems on Patrick, it's nothing he could really fix.

"I've got maybe ten minutes before I have to go do something for radio. Go for it." Patrick says. "Did you find the Search page? Pete was wondering."

"That's what I'm calling about. I entered the last Protector and Supportive in my line and got an email back asking for a living reference. I know you guys are pretty off the grid when it comes to this sort of stuff – would it be okay to put you and Pete and Maggie in as my sponsors?"

"Yeah, that's fine. We officially registered our triad with the Chicago pride that taught me the ropes. We asked them to keep it on the down-low but the information should trickle around the community eventually. We don't have anything to hide anymore." Patrick sounds absolutely smug about that. "If nothing else, Pete's name should ring a bell for somebody. Maybe even Maggie's. Depends who actually maintains the site, I guess."

"Okay cool. I just didn't want to cause any trouble."

"I appreciate it dude, but it's all cool. So are you going to share why you're aiming for the record of youngest-ever Search candidate or do I get to listen to Pete and Maggie come up with crazier and crazier ideas?"

"Speaking of crazy," Spencer rolls his eyes. "Ryan's idea. He's freaking out that I need to get an early start. I figured if I at least signed up for the site, I can make it look like I'm doing something."

"Oh." Patrick's quiet for a moment. "Yeah, I can see how that might make some kind of sense in Ryan's world."

Spencer snorts. "Doesn't make any in mine."

"Anyway, I gotta run, they're waving at me kind of frantically. Let me know how it goes."

"Sure thing."

It's easier this time to shoot off a reply email naming Patrick as his sponsoring Protector, Pete as his sponsoring Supportive and Maggie as a rare sponsoring Nurturer. Spencer doesn't know Maggie that well yet, she's only been with Pete and Patrick for a little over a year, but as Protector of their triad, Patrick gets to speak for all of them in chiropteric matters when he wants to (or when the other two aren't listening, anyway).

A password is sent to him within the hour. Spencer logs in, creates a new password, bookmarks the site, then whistles for Boba and Milo and goes for a long walk. He's done as much as he said he would. He doesn't have to look at the website again. He doesn't want to. Really.

  
**   
_#####_   
**   


Somewhere along the way, Ryan's plan to back off a little and give Spencer some space went horribly, horribly wrong. Spencer was supposed to start looking for his mate, so he could stay alive. In a perfect world, maybe he would have even asked for Ryan's advice, and they could have planned out what Spencer needed to do like they used to plan how to get out of Vegas when they were kids. But Spencer hasn't spoken to him since the end of tour. It's been a week and a half. Ryan's never gone this long without some sort of communication with Spencer. Even a dumb text message would be *something*.

Ryan wants to pick up the phone and call Spencer but he doesn't know what to say, and he's a little scared there might be another fight. Instead, he calls Pete. Not the greatest person ever at advice-giving, but with Pete at least, he can explain what the fight was about without lying much.

"Hello Mini-me." Pete says when he picks up. "Tell Uncle Petey your problems."

"You're cheerful." It comes out far more accusing than he means it to. Has Ryan lost the ability to say what he means to anybody?

"I have a Patrick on my left and a Maggie on my right, and we're hopping on a plane to play another secret show tonight." Pete declares. "My life is awesome."

"Do you suppose you could get me a Spencer?" And now that's more blunt than Ryan wants. Once upon a time he was the guy with words. Maybe they ended up in Chicago with Jon.

"I can try." Pete's voice softens. "Where did you lose him?"

"I... I don't even know anymore." But Pete has always been a better listener than anyone gives him credit for, and eventually the whole story spills out. How Rock Band Live had been disappointing at best and completely sucked at worst. How he'd been doing a lot of writing with Jon, which meant spending a lot less time with Spencer. How it seemed like a good thing, because Spencer wasn't getting any younger and maybe if he knew he didn't need to take care of Ryan anymore he could worry more about himself and the mate he needed to find.

"Ross... you remember he's not going to need to mate until he's twenty-five, right?"

"The diary said it could be earlier." Ryan insists. "You know it's not written in stone. Weird shit can happen!"

"Weird shit can happen." Pete agrees. "But that's what you have me for. The weird shit happens to me so it doesn't have to happen to everyone else around me. Spencer will be *fine*, okay? He's still got almost four years to go. And I've got it marked down. No touring for you guys from June 2012 until Spencer Shifts for the first time."

"But..."

"Just... that's not your problem right now. Your problem is you need a Spencer, and I've got like, fifteen minutes before I get on a plane. What happened?"

"I... maybe ignored him a little bit."

"And when Spencer called you on being a douchebag?"

"I said something about growing apart."

"And he called you a liar?"

"No." Ryan swallows. "I think maybe he believed me."

"Fuck. I thought you two had that mental telepathy going. It was your superpower! It's written on the Official List of Decaydance Superpowers. There's a copy in the office in New York and everything."

Rehashing the whole thing is maybe not the best thing for Ryan's state of mind. "This was a bad idea."

"Hey, no. Ryan. Ryan, you've got some grovelling to do, yeah. But you know where he lives and everything. Just go on over and beg until he takes pity on you. If I know Spencer, he'll cave eventually. He loves you, man."

"Maybe this time is the time he can't forgive me." Ryan takes a deep breath. "He thinks I'm more worried about how his Shift will affect the band than I am about him."

"That was a shitty thing to imply. I promise you I've said worse shit to Patrick and he's forgiven me. Maybe you need to add bribery to the begging though. Take him some shoes or something."

"You promise?"

"I can give the phone to Patrick if you don't trust me. He's probably got a whole list of mean crap I've said to him he could recite for you."

And go over the whole thing again? Ryan's not that much of a masochist. "No, that's okay Pete. Say hi for me. And to Maggie, too."

"I will. You tell Spence Wentz I said to treat you right, okay?"

"Yes boss."

"Hang in there Ryro. It'll be okay."

They hang up. Ryan thinks wistfully about the tiny club Fall Out Boy is playing tonight. He remembers going to shows that size with Spencer. Life was a whole lot easier back then.

Ryan maybe stakes out Spencer's house for a day. Only one of Spencer's neighbours even notices -- an older guy who takes his dog out for a walk twice while Ryan's still sitting in his car. A call to Spencer's mom tells him that Spencer has been holed up in this place all week. While Ryan's had Keltie around to distract him, Haley is away at college, so it's just Spencer and the dogs. Spencer loves those dogs, but he hasn't walked them all day. It gives Ryan a little hope that maybe Spencer misses him enough to be sitting around moping. An angry Spencer *does* things, gets terribly over-efficient.

With this in mind, Ryan goes on a Port of Subs run and this time parks right in Spencer's driveway. He could let himself in, he has a key in case of emergencies, but this isn't the same thing as losing power because he forgot to pay his bills. He rings the doorbell.

After a couple of minutes, he rings it again. He's about to ring it a third time when he realizes that Milo and Boba aren't so well trained that they don't react to the doorbell. Either Spencer has left his house, or he's in the backyard. Ryan looks at the Port of Subs bags in his hand and down the side of the house at the high backyard fence. He doesn't like his chances if he hops Spencer's fence without his peace offering, but his chances of getting over that six-foot fence while carrying something are even worse.

Mind made up, Ryan secures Spencer's sub in its plastic bag and tosses it over the fence. He can hear an immediate reaction from the dogs and then, finally, Spencer's voice.

"What you got, guys?" he asks, coming closer. Ryan hears the rustle of plastic as he picks it up. "What the fuck?"

"I have a drink for you too." Ryan explains, not quite yelling. "Can I come in?"

There's silence from Spencer for a moment, although the dogs are scratching at the gate that separates them from Ryan.

"I'd throw it over too," he tries again. "Except it's a fountain drink and I don't think it would survive the trip."

"Oh my god, you're ridiculous." Spencer says, gruffly, but Ryan doesn't think he's imagining that subtle undertone of fondness. He hopes he isn't, anyway. A moment later the latch slides back and the gate opens. Spencer's not quite smiling. "Get in here you moron."

Something relaxes in Ryan's chest and he lets out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. He hasn't fucked up irrevocably this time. He hands Spencer his drink as he passes through the gate. Spencer doesn't hug him, which hurts, but reminds Ryan he's not forgiven yet. He's really bad at grovelling.

Milo and Boba are happy to see him, at least. Ryan pets them with his free hand, before following Spencer over to the patio. They settle into chairs, but neither of them starts eating. Ryan can feel Spencer's expectant gaze on him. He hasn't been able to plan what to say – Spencer can always tell when he's going from a script, and it isn't usually one of his favourite things. He knows he shouldn't make Spencer go first, but when he opens his mouth, no words come out.

"Oh come on," Spencer drawls, and there's the sarcasm he uses against the rest of the world, but only very rarely on Ryan. "You came here, you brought me food. You must have *something* to say."

Ryan can see that Spencer's nervous, too. The tone hurts anyway. He's frozen for another moment, and then the terrible thought that they could *stay* this way, that they could be mean and hurting at each other for a really really long time - if Spencer doesn't get tired of it and stop talking to him altogether - finally prompts the hardest words of all out of his mouth.

"I'm sorry." After that, other words are easier. "I didn't mean it. I get upset, I say some really really dumb shit. And I wasn't ready to talk about it. It's not really an excuse, I get that, but Spence, you've gotta know you're more important to me than the band. I'm just... I'm worried about you." _I'm worried about the band for other reasons_ he doesn't say. "You weren't listening. I was throwing out every argument I could."

Spencer's expression has softened to the same look of fond exasperation he gets every time Ryan does something Spencer thinks is dumb. "You really are an idiot, Ross."

"I know."

"I should make you grovel a hell of a lot more. Especially since I can tell you're still holding out on me."

Being blunt and direct has worked so far. "Do you really want to talk about how many screaming matches I'm going to have with Brendon when we get together to work on the next album?"

Spencer tenses again, and then sighs. "I couldn't be in a band that was *easy*, could I?"

"Just warn me if you decide you want to leave the band for saner pastures, okay?" Ryan's not quite joking.

"Fuck, Ryan..." Spencer gets up and pulls Ryan out of his chair into a hug. "I wouldn't... even if one day you decide you want a full-time tambourine player instead of a drummer, we'd still be friends, okay?"

"Promise?" And okay, he didn't mean to be *that* blunt. Also, didn't he have a plan to give Spencer space and be less clingy?

"Always," is Spencer's reassuring answer, even if Ryan knows it's not quite true.

Spencer's hugs are always warm, and solid, and safe. *This* is the moment Ryan wants to stay in forever, but he knows he can't. He doesn't get to keep this. He steps back the second Spencer's grip loosens a fraction. He looks away from Spencer to the table, and is surprised into a laugh. Milo has decided he's not going to wait for scraps and has his nose fully into Ryan's Port of Subs bag.

"Milo!" Spencer remonstrates, grabbing his collar. "Bad dog!" But he's laughing too.

Upon investigation, Milo hasn't been able to get past the wax wrapping paper, Ryan's food is safe. They settle down to eating and idle chat. Ryan hangs out in Spencer's backyard all afternoon, and then gets into an epic MarioKart battle over pizza and beer. It's not perfect – there are definite taboo topics, boundaries that neither of them want to cross – but it's a day with Spencer and that's good enough.

  
**   
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**   


It's two weeks before Christmas when Spencer realizes two things. He doesn't know when Haley's planning to come home for break and he hasn't actually talked to Haley since the end of tour. He's left a couple of messages on her voice mail and she's sent a few emails, but they haven't had a real conversation with each other in a month.

Part of the problem, of course, lies in the innocuous-looking printout that is currently somewhere on the kitchen table. Not that there's anything inherently wrong with having an account on a website. Spencer doesn't have to go any further with Search for years if he doesn't want to. But it nags at him. He's not sure what he'll say to his girlfriend with the potential for the end hanging over his head.

However time is running out – Christmas is coming and so is Haley. If he doesn't man up and find out her travel plans he's going to accidentally strand his girlfriend at the airport.

For once he's had a revelation in the middle of the day when normal people are awake, so he doesn't even have an excuse to put off calling. It rings a few times and Spencer is resigned to the idea of leaving another message when Haley does actually pick up.

"Hello?" she says, sounding distracted.

"Hi baby, it's Spencer."

"Spencer!" The surprise in her voice makes him wince. He is a truly awful boyfriend. "Sorry," she continues. "I have a final tomorrow. Too busy studying to check call display, I guess."

Busy. Of course she's going to be busier in college than she was in high school. He's gotta start remembering that. "Sorry. I just had one question, and then maybe we can talk later?"

"I dunno, tomorrow's my last final, so early night tonight. Plus, I haven't even started packing."

"Sounds familiar,'" he says wryly. "That's what I'm calling about. I just realized I don't have your flight times or anything. Can you email them to me?"

"Oh." Definitely not a good tone. "Um, I don't have the money to fly to Vegas right now."

And this is what happens when they don't talk. They've always walked a fine line between Haley's need for independence and Spencer's ability to provide the stuff that makes her life easier. "You were okay with using my credit card the last time you came home," he points out cautiously. Exactly where is she packing for, if she isn't planning to come to Vegas?

"My parents sent me a ticket. They want me to go home for Christmas."

Spencer really does not have an answer for that.

"It's been a long time,"

A hundred responses flash through Spencer's head. I thought this was your home. It's been a really long time because you didn't want to see each other. Why didn't you tell me this *earlier*?

"If I said 'That's fine, I'll just come visit you in January', I'd be missing the point of this conversation , wouldn't I?" He says, trying to hold on to his cool. Apparently he wasn't the only one avoiding conversations.

"I... didn't want to do this over the phone." She's apologetic, but more than a little defensive.

"I know I've been a little out of it, but if you'd asked I would have come down."

"It would have been so awkward. And there are always a ton of people...."

"'Dear Spencer. We need to talk. Can you come see me next weekend? Book a hotel room, my dorm isn't very private.' Even *I*, who apparently missed the fact that you've been *avoiding me* for a month, would have gotten that hint."

"Well, you weren't trying very hard, were you!"

"Haley, we share a house. Did you really think you could just *stop coming home* and I wouldn't *notice*?"

"I don't *know*, okay?" She was close to crying. "This has been a really hard semester. My whole life is changing, and I can't talk to you about anything! You've never been to college, you don't know what it's like! I just... can't do this anymore."

"Haley..."

"No, Spencer. I have a final tomorrow. I can't do this right now. I'll email you over Christmas, okay?"

"Don't bother." Spencer can see that if he lets her they'll just drag this out for months. "I know your parents' address, I'll send your stuff there." He hangs up. He manages not to throw the phone, but three of the kitchen stools clatter to the ground when he kicks them. It's not nearly as satisfying as it should be.

By one o'clock the next morning, Spencer has marked himself as "attending" the next Search meetup in New Mexico. The new moon starts on Boxing Day, which means he can get it over with and have something to tell Ryan by the time they meet up in LA after New Year's. Then at least one person in his life will be happy about something he's done.

  
**   
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**   


Spencer spends much of the short flight from Albuquerque to Silver City eyeing his fellow passengers. How many of them are Search candidates? How big is a Search gathering anyway? For all the security on the website, there still hadn't been much in the way of details on the inner site.

Once inside Grant County Airport, a couple of his questions are answered. Most people are either greeted by family or go straight out to the small taxi stand, leaving Spencer and two other people standing around, looking nervous. Before Spencer can make up his mind whether to say anything to either of them, a short woman with long black hair steps forward with a welcoming smile.

"Hello, folks! I'm Rosa Velasquez. Welcome to Silver City. I know in the bigger cities it's customary to have a sign, but out here it's easier to just do things by process of elimination. I'm looking for Cecilia Kwan, Spencer McLaughlin and Rudy Black. Hopefully that's you guys, or somebody missed a flight!"

"I'm Spencer," he volunteers, extending his hand. She catches it in a firm grip.

"So *you're* the McLaughlin. You're going to be a bit of a celebrity, I'm afraid. You're the only new discovery to this gathering, and of course you're the youngest by a couple of years. Not to mention, nobody's met anyone from the new Stump line, so everyone's going to want to hear the gossip."

Spencer winces. "Uh oh."

Rosa winks at him and then turns away to address the others. "Process of elimination again - you would be Cecilia, and you're Rudy. Welcome, and good hunting."

Rudy, a lanky guy about half a head taller than Spencer wearing a letter jacket from U of M, ducks his head a little and shrugs. Cecilia is about Rosa's height with short, spiky magenta hair, and enough piercings that Spencer had spent part of the flight wondering how long it had taken her to get past the metal detectors. At Rosa's greeting, she gives a shark-like smile and hefts her duffle bag onto her right shoulder.

"Thanks. Let's get going."

Rosa leads them out to her jeep. "It's a decent-sized gathering," she explains as they load up. "We're expecting about fifteen to twenty candidates, including three from the local prides. Two more are pre-Shift kids like yourselves, but they're driving up."

"Do you know how many Supportives?" Cecilia asks, taking the passenger seat. Even without the question it's obvious she's a Protector.

"Maybe a third?" Rosa says. "We've got a few tentatives, and there's always a few candidates who don't bother to RSVP. Plus, Spencer there hasn't been tested yet."

"Did you memorize my file?" Spencer demands, starting to get irritated.

"Like I said, kid, you're a celebrity. Besides, I'm one of the chaperones. It's my job to know everyone. I know this is Rudy's sixth gathering and he's a late bloomer - we've got everything set up in case you Shift tonight, Rudy. And Ms. Kwan here is still about a year away from Shift but she's been all over the continent, spreading her wings, so to speak. From the Vancouver Kwans, I understand."

"That's right."

"Met anyone you like?" Spencer asks.

"I'm keeping in touch with one or two people. But you never know until you Shift, right? I've got contact info for everyone just in case."

When Rosa pulls up outside a Holiday Inn Express, Spencer can't quite contain his snort of laughter.

"It's so... mundane." He explains to Rudy's raised eyebrow.

"We'll be going out to Gila National Park a couple of times, and some folks are camping there, but not everyone can live in a tent." Rosa says. "This place has got a meeting room big enough to hold everyone, and enough rooms that no one's sharing who doesn't want to."

"Who pays for all this?" Spencer asks, sliding out of the car after Rudy.

"Every pride pays for the gathering they host," Cecilia tells him. "You've never been asked to kick in at home?"

"I haven't looked up the Nevada prides." Spencer shrugs. He doesn't know how to say to these people that for most of his teenage years, the diary was something of a fairy story. It was worth more to him for its ability to capture Ryan's imagination than anything else, distracting him from real life problems.

It wasn't until Pete formally introduced himself on the Nintendo Fusion tour that the idea of being a chiroptera had sunk in as anything more than a game. After that, well... any time the idea crossed his mind, his time on the Panic! at the Disco roller coaster made trusting a whole bunch of new people seem like a bad idea. He had the diary for health, customs and behaviour, Ryan for support and Pete and Patrick for modern advice. What more did he need? That Pete's rather unique situation (as if Pete Wentz could ever be normal about anything) meant that there was a lot more discussion about Courtship than the process of Searching didn't worry him any. He'd never really wanted to think about Search and its ramifications. He already had one person who was more or less the focus of his whole world, and that person was a human.

"I knew that the storytellers were going to want to spend some time with you, but now I'm definitely going to make sure I'm there when they do." Rosa declares.

Spencer manages to keep from rolling his eyes. He makes a mental note to call Pete later and ask for as much detail on Search gatherings as Pete can remember.

After checking in to the hotel, Rosa distributes 9 by 12 brown envelopes to each of her charges and tells them to meet in the conference room at four pm for a quick dinner and social hour before sunset. She has extra instructions for Rudy, so Spencer leaves them behind and heads to his room for some solitude.

He's still not entirely sure what he's doing here. Part of it comes from an irrational reaction to his break up with Haley, deciding that hey, if she doesn't want him then there really isn't anything stopping him from at least checking out a Search gathering. But if he's honest, a lot of it has to do with keeping Ryan happy by showing him that Spencer is taking his worries seriously. One gathering should be enough for a while, right? Maybe then Ryan will calm down and see that there are years between 21 and 25, and let Spencer off the hook for a while.

He gets that Ryan is worried beyond all reason because Ryan's lost enough people in his life. It was definitely a little scary being on the sidelines at times while Pete's grip on reality got more and more tenuous, but Spencer is not Pete. For one thing, he has enough trouble with the idea of mating for life with one person, forget about *two*.

He debates calling Pete or Patrick, but he's strangely reluctant to tell anyone where he is yet. Instead he digs into his knapsack for the diary. Time to commune with his great great great grandparents and remind himself what advice they had for Searching.

_Most prides will host at least three Search gatherings a year. If you can find your local pride, it's best to spend the first one with them. For some prides the tradition is to invite the local pre-Shift candidates to the first gathering after a specific birthday. For your grandfather that was his twenty-fourth, for me it was my twenty-third._

_The form of each gathering is different from pride to pride. All take place over the new moon, to allow mature candidates a safe place to shift, and to include those whose only way to travel is to fly under their own power. Some gatherings involve the whole community, some involve only the candidates and a few chaperones. There are prides who, as much as possible, separate the Supportives from the Protectors for specific activities, and prides who feel it is important for Protectors and Supportives to interact as much as possible over the three days of the new moon._

_Meet as many people as you can, my child. There are chiropteri in all countries of the world, and your Chosen could come from anywhere. Speak to the chaperones and learn the modern traditions. The world has changed much from when I was a girl, and I sometimes fear that the advice we leave for you will lead you down the wrong roads._

_I fear even more what might happen to you if we did not leave you any word at all. No matter when you discover your heritage, my child, if your family treats you harshly because of it, seek out the nearest gathering you can on the very next new moon. Search gatherings are a place of sanctuary, both as a place of truce between prides and for those orphans that humans have discarded._

Spencer shivers, thinking of Pete and Patrick's Maggie, who had been one of those "orphans" that his great great great grandmother worried about.

A place of sanctuary. A place of truce. It's definitely something Spencer needs in his life at the moment. He'll try his best to go into things with an open mind.

Decision made, he tears open the envelope from Rosa. Inside is a laminate with his full name and lineage, a schedule with plenty of blank spots, presumably for meeting other candidates, a list of candidates with short biographies, and a list of attendees from the local pride. The "storytellers" Rosa mentioned are a local historian and a genealogist. There's also a nurse qualified to do the blood test which can indicate whether a chiroptera is a Protector or a Supportive. For those old enough to shift there are activities scheduled in the nearby National Forest - practices for controlling shifting and fun stuff like a game of tag. He wonders if spectators are allowed - he's seen Pete fly and it's always neat to watch.

  
**   
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**   


Spencer changes into clean jeans and henley for the first dinner. He'd packed a jacket and tie just in case, but if a raised chiroptera like Cecilia can get away with all the piercings she's got (not to mention the sixteen-hole lace-up boots that were probably steel-toed), it's clearly not a formal occasion.

The laminate makes him feel like he's back on tour, and when he sees dinner's a buffet, he smothers a laugh. Catering. Maybe he should have brought a kit - he feels like he might be asked to play for his supper.

All told there are maybe twenty-five or thirty people milling around the room. Spencer expects that some of the candidates who are already old enough to shift are probably flying in tonight and he'll see them tomorrow morning sometime. The meeting room is your typical bland conference room, the type Panic have booked with Decaydance and Atlantic reps a couple of times for on-the-road meetings. Food is set up at one end, with a large whiteboard at the other detailing the night's agenda and a large oval table in the middle. Someone's made *some* attempt at decoration - there are several crests hanging on the walls – hand-painted colour versions done on what Spencer suspects is sheepskin. There aren't many he recognizes off-hand, although he picks out the McLaughlin shield no problem. He used to sketch it out in his high school notebooks, and there's been a version somewhere in his space on tour ever since Ryan had a bumper sticker made for the van Panic first toured in - it's an easy way to alert and recognize other chiropteri. He wouldn't be surprised if Pete got the Stump crest as a tattoo once they've decided what it is.

"Let me guess, not chiroptera-raised," a warm voice says, bringing Spencer out of his thoughts. He looks over his shoulder to see a slim, tired-looking woman. She's wearing gold-rimmed glasses and the hand she holds out is bony and dry. "Tanya de la Cruz of the Perez line, Supportive to Eudardo Perez."

"Spencer James Smith the fifth of the McLaughlin line, through Maureen O'Riordan and Michael McLaughlin." He says, juggling his plate to take her hand while returning the formal greeting. It's a mouthful, and probably one he'll be repeating a lot over the next few days. "Spencer McLaughlin" works as short-form but he suspects it will be helpful to prove he knows where he's coming from right off the bat.

"I was right!" She smiles, apparently delighted. Tanya is listed in the welcome package as the genealogist, so Spencer's pretty sure she *is* delighted, at least professionally speaking. "Our lost lamb. Will you promise to put me on your dance card for tomorrow? I'm dying to find out how you discovered your line, and what your connection is with the new Stump line."

"Let me guess, you're not into music." He laughs. "I thought at least one person would be able to guess how I ran across that line."

"I don't pay much attention to MTV," she said apologetically.

"No, it's fine. We're not that big, outside of a certain fan base." It's good to remind himself of that sometimes. "I'm glad I won't be signing autographs while I'm in the middle of... dealing with all this. No offense."

"Culture shock is pretty common for newcomers." Tanya agrees. "Eduardo was in your shoes the year we met."

"Is he here?" Spencer asks, glancing around the room. "Rosa told me I'm the only "new discovery" at the gathering. It would be nice to have someone around who remembers what it's like."

"No, he's doing some research over in Germany." At his look of surprise she explains. "We've been married for five years, mated for eight. For the first year or two it can be pretty intense, but pairs can carry on separate lives as much as they need to after that. After the gathering I'll go visit for a week or so before the semester starts."

"Oh." Spencer concentrates on his food, feeling like an idiot.

"It's a common misconception." She says kindly. " Most candidates are focusing so much on Search and Courtship they don't really think about the fact that we can live almost twice as long as humans and that's a long time to have to spend joined at the hip with another person, even your Chosen."

Spencer nods. It does make sense. Pete and Patrick being in the same band, and Maggie's work as a lighting tech means they can all tour together easily, but not everyone has corresponding careers like that. And he's barely started to think about Search, much less what happens beyond it.

"If you slot me in for a meeting after lunch tomorrow, I'll introduce you to the rest of the locals. Deal?"

"Sure."

Tanya takes him around to meet Miguel, the nurse practitioner. He books Spencer for a morning slot for the blood test. Spencer's often wondered if he's a Protector or a Supportive. It's true that he's often the designated grown-up and is known for being kind of bossy sometimes, but it's also true that Ryan and Brendon, and even Jon to some extent, can lead him around by the nose if they push the right buttons.

The historian, Franklin, who is also Tanya's colleague at the nearby university, is exactly Spencer's idea of an absent-minded professor. He's round and grey-haired, with a definite Southern drawl. He points out his Protector, a wiry old woman who will be leading the shifted candidates in control sessions, and is currently in conversation with Rudy, the guy who might finally Shift tonight.

Rosa's Supportive is also at the gathering, a quiet woman with piercing eyes that seem to take Spencer's measure in an instant. He resolves not to get on her bad side.

  
**   
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**   


The first morning starts back in the conference room. It's quite early - Spencer arrives maybe half awake. Rosa seems to be in charge again, the others in the room are all candidates, most of whom he met last night. There's food on the back table under covers. The smell of coffee is very tempting but apparently Spencer's not allowed to have any just yet.

"If we were somewhere smaller, we would have been in the kitchen, and I would have had you up earlier," Rosa begins once one last straggler has arrived. "Tradition is different from pride to pride, so for those of you who have never done this, I'll explain."

"It can take candidates who have attained Shift anywhere from a few months to a few years to find their Chosen. Even with the support of their pride, or human friends and family, it can be a hard time. For those who are the first to shift in many generations, it can be harder still. A Search gathering is a place of sanctuary, a place to rest, a time of welcoming into our community. So we ask the candidates who have not yet shifted to spend a little time each morning in service to their fellows."

"If we had been somewhere with a kitchen we could use, you would have prepared breakfast for them. Instead, they will join us in a few minutes, and you will serve them their food. Whether you feel a pull to one of them or to none, welcome them."

Spencer smiles at the reminder of his grandmother's words.

The door to the conference room opens again and Miguel comes in, leading the rest of the candidates. Some look more tired than others. Spencer notices Rudy, who must have managed Shift after all, looking extremely dazed. Spencer goes up to him and takes his elbow.

"C'mon, let's get you sitting down," he says gently, as if he's dealing with a sick Ryan or Brendon. Rudy makes a vaguely assenting noise and lets himself be lead. "Are you hungry?" Spencer casts an eye towards the back table, where covers have been lifted off the food. He can't quite make out what there is. "Coffee?"

Rudy nods for "coffee", which is a step. Spencer leaves him sitting at the table and goes to scrounge up something. Miguel comes up to him as he's pouring coffee.

"Protein is best for right now," he advises. "Easy on the bread. Some fruit's good, but maybe wait until he's together enough to make a choice."

"Thanks." Spencer grabs a plate and loads it up with bacon, scrambled eggs, and a couple of slices of ham to start off with. He decides one slice of toast is probably "easy" and grabs packets of butter and jam to go with it. The plate goes on a convenient tray with the coffee and cutlery. There's milk and sugar out on the main table, so Spencer makes his way back. "Here you go, man. Just what the doctor ordered. Or, Miguel anyway, and he's the closest we've got today."

The smell of food (or possibly just the coffee) wakes Rudy up enough to manage a "Thanks," before he digs in. Rosa's hovering a little, so Spencer nods to her and stands up so she can have his chair. He takes food orders for a couple of people and grabs a passing member of the hotel staff when the coffee runs out.

He's checking to see everything else is okay when Tanya taps him on the shoulder. She's laughing a little. "I know what *your* blood test is going to say, Spencer McLaughlin. Definitely a Protector. Now, go sit down and have some breakfast for yourself."

A little sheepishly, he does so. All the adults he met the night before are there, plus a few more. Some are hovering in a general manner, Rosa is still mothering Rudy, and Miguel's checking the pupils of a candidate Spencer doesn't remember meeting last night.

Cecilia's hair catches his eye, and Spencer sees that she seems to have made a connection. Or at least, she's hand-feeding one of the candidates, and he's pretty sure you don't do that with somebody you only want to know casually. It's a young woman, possibly an early shifter, one of the ones who looks the most tired, wearing clothes that seem to hang off her a little. Spencer wonders if they've been donated. She's leaning heavily on Cecilia and eating only when prompted. Cecilia sees Spencer watching them and almost growls. He looks away hastily.

After breakfast, which Spencer and the other non-shifted clear away (excluding Cecilia, who escorts her companion out of the room), Rosa takes charge again.

"All right. I hope everyone has their dance cards. If you haven't been tested, or if your test was inconclusive, feel free to make dates across the board. Otherwise, green laminates are Protectors, orange laminates are Supportives and don't laugh at me, it's what we had left." She gets a general laugh anyway. "If you came in from the park and Miguel hasn't seen you, you must see him before you leave the gathering. It does you no good to be travelling while you're sick, I don't care where you're supposed to be next month or how you're planning to get there. "

There are various mumbles of agreement, and then the "dance cards"- the agendas from yesterday's welcome package with various free slots - come out of purses or pockets. Someone dumps a pile of pens onto the table.

This is the part that Spencer's not all that interested in. Sure, he's got lots to learn from the organizers, he has the session called "Maps and Safe Spaces" circled in his agenda, and he's sure Tanya and her colleague will probably drool over the diary, but he really doesn't have any strong inclination to... well, frankly waste these people's time. He sincerely hopes none of them is his Chosen because they'll be waiting three years and he remembers what that did to Pete.

Still, remembering what it *did* do to Pete, and how much it helped him to have Patrick around, he diligently goes around and compares schedules. Despite Tanya's comment, he books time about equally with Protectors and Supportives. If Pete's mom can spend his entire life assuming he's a Protector, Spencer's not going to assume someone who's known him for all of five minutes can have him pegged.

His dance card full, he grabs another cup of coffee for the road and follows the signs to where Miguel has set up shop. Having blood drawn is never fun, but since he's the only one having this particular test done, at least he'll know by tomorrow morning.

"You sure you don't want anything else?" Miguel says, holding a cotton ball to Spencer's arm and rummaging for surgical tape. "There hasn't been a McLaughlin in decades... you sure your info's good?"

"It's good." Spencer assures him. "I've got a whole story for Tanya. She'd probably whack me if I told you first."

"Hey, doctor-patient confidentiality." Miguel grins.

"Uh-huh." Spencer says. "Here's a hint. I've actually been a celebrity before. I can play the game."

"Damn." Miguel pauses. "So I should check for drugs and sell the results to the tabloids?"

It's been a couple of weeks since Spencer last smoked up. He's not worried.

Meetings with the other candidates are kind of like doing a press junket, only without any other member of his band around to make inside jokes with. Apparently there's some kind of standard list of questions that candidates use when there's no immediate connection but they can't afford to overlook anyone. Spencer keeps a list of who he's met, along with home state, province and/or country and contact information. He tells himself he'll put a star beside anyone who seems memorable, but by the time he meets up with Tanya, there are still no stars.

"So, what do you want to know?" he asks, settling down at the table in Tanya's room. She's already got family charts and a notebook out. He sets the diary down in front of him.

"Well, first off, I've got a copy of the McLaughlin chart with me." She taps it with a pen. "Can you just confirm that what you've been told is the same as what I've got here?"

"Sure." Spencer flips to the McLaughlin family tree in the diary and passes it over.

"What's this?"

"My chart." He grins a little. "My ancestors were very enterprising."

"They wrote this?" Her eyes widen. "That's how you know?"

"By the time my grandmother's generation were born, I guess it was obvious it might be a while until another chiroptera showed up in the family. My great great great grandmother was worried I might end up as an "orphan", she and her husband wrote out everything they could think of that a new chiroptera might need to know. My mom gave it to me when I was twelve." He sighs. "Now that I'm here I'm learning they didn't cover everything, but it's pretty extensive."

"That's amazing. Not only that they did this, but that it actually got to you. There must have been plenty of people who could have had it willed to them. Franklin will love this."

"I think Mom had to ask around to find out who had it, but I guess it was one of those family legends. If the gene had skipped a few more generations it might have been harder."

"I see it's McLaughlin tradition to keep a full family tree - the official records only record the chiropteri." Spencer has a closer look at the chart Tanya had brought out and sees that it's a lot more sparse than his.

"How come? I mean, wouldn't it be easier to find new chiropteri if you kept an eye on everyone?"

"That's a lot of people, Spencer, and the whole idea of shape-shifting dragon people weirds most humans out. It's better to let them get on with life. If a new chiroptera comes to us with no idea of where he or she got the gene it doesn't usually take me more than a month to come up with either a direct ancestor or word that it's been at least seven generations."

"Like for Patrick."

"Yes, the Stump line." Having solved Spencer's "mystery" fairly quickly, Tanya latches on to another. "Tell me *everything*!"

"It might be the Vaughn line, Patrick's still debating." Spencer comments, a little uneasily. Talking about himself is fine. Talking about Patrick, Pete and Maggie is a whole other ballgame, and not just because he's used to helping Pete avoid his handlers. "The Chicago pride would have his information, I know he did have the official family research through them."

"There are factions in the Chicago pride," Tanya explains, as if Spencer doesn't already know. "It's hard to get official information from them sometimes."

"You know, these people are my friends," Spencer says, "I didn't know before I came here that their mating was some sort of big news, and I'm still not sure it's anyone else's business."

"It's a new line! Those don't get founded every day. Plus, there's word that one of the triad is a Kingston. The Kingston line has bred Protectors..."

"For ten generations, trust me I *know*." Spencer snaps. "Look, if you're that curious, contact someone in Chicago who isn't affiliated with the Kingstons and they'll get word to Patrick. I just don't feel right talking about it."

Tanya's clearly taken aback. "I..."

"I'll confirm that the Stump, or Vaughn line, depending on what Patrick choses to call it, is being established by a triad of Patrick Stump, Pete Wentz, the first Supportive in the Kingston line in ten generations, and Maggie Parker, a Nurturer and "lost lamb" from the Spencer line. Other than that, you need to talk to Patrick." He stands up. "I'll make a photocopy of the family tree for you."

He leaves her room angry and frustrated and ends up skipping his next two meetings. He's almost at the point of calling up Pete or Patrick to rant when someone knocks at his door.

It's Rosa. She takes one look at his face and says, "Spencer, walk with me."

"No thanks."

"It wasn't a request, kid. Go get a jacket, and we'll go for a walk outside."

She's very insistent, and Spencer ends up complying.

"You're very young to Search, you know that, yeah?"

"Yes, I know."

"And younger still for somebody who wasn't raised in a pride. You might know some of your history, some of our customs, but I don't think you're very comfortable with it all yet. That's okay, it's perfectly natural for the lost lambs. But because of your age, a lot of people are going to forget that you aren't chiroptera-raised and expect you to react like someone who was."

"Maybe."

"So maybe, while I remember, we can talk about what you don't know. Do you have any questions?"

"You mean like, why is everyone so interested in the Stump line?" Spencer shrugs. "I know why they are. It's a new line, and a triad, and it involves Pete fucking Wentz, so of course everyone wants to know. I just don't see why they should."

"You put Patrick Stump down as your mentor. You feel like it's a betrayal, to talk about him?"

"It's just... everyone's so interested *after* the fact. But where were they all when Pete was tearing himself up inside and Patrick was desperate for help?"

"The old rule - a Courtship is between a Protector and a Supportive. None shall interfere."

"It's a dumb rule." Spencer scowls.

"It's a necessary one. The older lines still try their best to arrange alliances, and pre-Shift attachments can also muddy the waters. Just because a couple of chiropteri dated before they shifted doesn't mean they'll feel the same way about each other afterwards. I've seen it dozens of times, one of a couple shifting before the other, and suddenly their Chosen isn't who they think it is."

"Why not? Attraction's attraction, isn't it?"

"You have to remember, you might have a fully mature human body and human sexuality, but you're not a fully mature chiroptera yet. The moment of Shift doesn't just change your outward appearance, it changes who you are. Who and what you desire is part of that."

"That's... hard to believe."

"It's impossible to explain until you've experienced it."

"So why even let the pre-Shifted be Search candidates?"

"It does speed up the process some if you suddenly realize that the person you spent half an hour with four months ago is absolutely *it* for you and hey, you have a phone number. Although in my experience it's rarely someone you only spent half an hour with. Usually it's someone that you made friends with, someone whose path you crossed more than once, someone you decided to keep in touch with. Deep friendships are more likely to bloom into mated pairs than anything else."

Spencer's never thought about it like that. Pete had known Patrick was the one for him at first sight – well, first scent – and he and Maggie had both been shifting for years when they met. It's almost reassuring to know that by starting now he might not end up with some insane attraction to a complete stranger. He goes into the rest of his meetings with a little more enthusiasm.

  
**   
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**   


Dinner is held before sunset again. Some of the candidates sit together in pairs or loose groupings. Spencer spends his time showing Franklin the diary. The professor would clearly like to lock the whole thing away for study, and seems pleased when Spencer informs him he's got a few photocopied versions at home he can part with. As dinner winds to a close they exchange mailing addresses, and Spencer hitches a ride with him to the campground in Gila National Park where the other candidates will be practicing control over their shifting.

It's a crisp winter evening. The sky is the kind of clear you only get away from city lights, and the cold seems to make the stars sparkle bright and sharp against the blue-black sky. Only one or two of the candidates are in the sky, already shifted, probably all newer to shifting. He wonders which one is Rudy. They're just dark silhouettes against the stars – the light's not good enough to pick out colourings.

He slips into a spot around the campfire, where the other candidates are sitting around, telling stories. Some look more comfortable than others. The older woman Spencer saw yesterday is walking around the edges of the circle. He watches as she puts a hand on one person's shoulder, bends to speak into the ear of another. Sometimes it works and tense shoulders go down or fidgeting slows. Other times he sees someone stand up and quietly walk away. One or two leave a trail of clothing behind them. After about an hour there are more chiropteri in the air than on the ground. Spencer's fascinated. He's seen Pete in flight, but never a group like this. There's enough of a clear space between the trees that he can see them playing what looks like some form of tag. The more daring flyers dart in and out of the trees, angling themselves to get enough room to spread their wings. One wise-ass even comes low enough to buzz the circle, leaving a breeze in his or her wake. Spencer laughs, it's a favourite trick of Pete's, a "pay attention to me!" move.

"It's neat, isn't it?" Cecilia says. Spencer jumps, he thought he was alone on his stretch of log. Cecilia doesn't notice, too busy watching the chiropteri above. "I wish I was old enough to Shift. I swear I'll never take Greyhound again!"

"What are you going to do, buy new stuff in every town you get to?" he can't help asking.

"Oh I don't need much. And there are a few places where you can get yourself fitted for a backpack with a harness that you can just step into after you've shifted. People who do leather work, tack for horses and stuff."

"Yeah?"

"Mmm hmm." she says distractedly.

The practical part of Spencer wants to ask who and where. The rest of him just wants to stretch out on the log, bask in the warmth of the fire and watch people-who-are-not-dragons flit across the sky.

  
**   
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**   


The "Maps and Safe Spaces" seminar takes place in the boardroom after breakfast has been cleared away. Some of the candidates have already left for home or wherever they're going next. Spencer's flight is a little after noon, and this is one area he *knows* his information is woefully out of date.

"Okay, listen up, people!" The man leading the seminar reminds Spencer faintly of his high school gym teacher. He's short, stocky and windburned, with a white buzzcut. He passes around a hand-out of several pages. "Some of this will be review for some of you, but I expect everyone here will learn *something* from this. If you rely more on computers than paper see me afterwards with your memory sticks or whatever to get the info. As usual, if any of us finds this information on the internet the penalties will be *severe*."

Spencer accepts a handout and settles back in his chair. There's an LCD projector on the table and a screen set up at one end of the room. Other than the early departures, the seminar is fairly well-attended, Spencer sees almost everyone who had been at last night's campfire.

The first image on the screen is a modified satellite shot of New Mexico and the surrounding area, with state and country borders marked in red. "Best flight paths into the state are through the wooded areas. That's here from Arizona and here from Colorado." He circles the trees in green. "The main highways are I40, I25 and I10." These are sketched out in red. "If you don't know by now to avoid those, I can't help you. If you value your lives you will also avoid Cannon Air Force Base, which is in the west, here. Roswell, on the other hand, you're fine." Spencer snickers, along with pretty much everyone else in the room. "Apart from our local pride, the other major New Mexico pride is up near Santa Fe." This gets marked with a star. "If you need to go into or come out of Mexico, the best place to do that is either through California or, if you're okay flying over water, go out over the gulf. Otherwise you're going to get yourself shot up by the militia, caught on video by a drone, or shift at a bad time and end up walking through desert."

The display changes to a road map with several dots on it. "The addresses and phone numbers for these are page two and three of your handouts. Dots in purple are safe hotels. The two blue dots are safe hospitals. Quite frankly though, if you are not with a local pride, the safest thing to do if you are sick or injured is head over to Arizona. Anybody here not know why?" Spencer's glad he isn't the only one to raise his hand.

"Okay. Arizona is home to Transformations Clinic and Hospice, one of only three chiropteric health centres in the country. If you're within a day's travel, you don't know any local safe medical practitioners and whatever you've got won't kill you in the meantime, this is where you head. If you have insurance they're pretty good at convincing providers to cover stuff. If you don't, or can't get it covered, that's fine too. The address is on page three." Spencer flips to that one and circles it heavily. Usually if he gets hurt or sick on a tour he just calls Pete for a safe place, but it's good to have his own list for reference.

"There are a bunch of addresses with hotels, hostels, restaurants and just plain open fields. If there's a specific crest or shield marked in an area, it's a good idea to go looking for permission to stop in. Otherwise," the display changes again to three different signs that seem to depict dragons in one form or another, "anyplace you see one of these signs is safe. Just tell whoever's working that you're a member of the St. George Society and you'll be taken care of."

He opens the floor to questions then, which results in a few tips about dealing with local authorities, but ends up as a round of "Do you know the best way between here and" wherever the person asking needs to get to. Spencer could take the time to ask about South Africa, he supposes, but that seems above and beyond the call of local knowledge. Instead he gathers his notes and goes to hunt down Miguel.

"Do you really need me to tell you?" Miguel asks when he sees it's Spencer at the door. "All of us chaperones have had you pegged since after breakfast yesterday."

Spencer raises an eyebrow at him. "I'd like the official results, yeah."

"Congratulations, you're a Protector. The McLaughlin line can continue in name as well as blood."

Spencer doesn't so much care about the name continuing as he does that he can cross half the names off his list.

  
**   
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**   


When Spencer arrives back in town, the Search gathering seems like something from another lifetime. He tries to get back into the swing of things by going to a couple of New Year's parties, but once those are over he has some definite time on his hands. He's supposed to meet up with Ryan and Brendon at Brendon's place in L.A. for some brainstorming sessions later in the month, and to help Ryan do some house-hunting. In the meantime, with Haley's stuff shipped off to her parents' place, his house looks distinctly empty. He doesn't really want to hang out there anymore.

What he finds himself doing is driving around town early in the morning, when most of Vegas is either just going to bed or won't be waking up for a few more hours. He means to head out to the desert, which is an awesome place to think as the sun's coming up, but instead he ends up driving around residential areas. A couple of times he stops, taking a closer look at interesting houses.

Logically, Spencer knows that if he really wants to buy a new house he should follow Brendon and Ryan's lead and move to L.A.. It would definitely be more convenient for what they do. But he finds himself browsing real estate websites, and then the classifieds section of the newspaper ends up in his passenger seat on those early morning drives. It's sort of a game, "Find the Perfect House". He likes the fact that there's no one to see him looking. He tells himself it's because it decreases the likelihood of his Perfect House being discovered by fans.

When he finds it, the possibility of telling anyone else about it goes right out of his head. It's not a huge house, smaller than the place he shared with Haley, although the yard is bigger. It sits on a lot at the end of a cul-de-sac, surrounded by a 6 foot high stone fence with heavy whitewashed wooden gates that have to be opened by hand. There's an honest-to-goodness bar that goes across the gates to lock them on the inside, and a fairly long driveway to the house. The front lawn is neatly kept, with few other plants and nothing in the way of artistic landscaping. There's a kidney-shaped pool at the back, surrounded by flat stones that soak up the hot Vegas sun.

The house itself is all one level with large archways in the place of doors. Lots of space. A large kitchen for Spencer to experiment in. One sun-drenched room with huge, south-facing windows that would make a good art studio if one wanted such a thing. And a basement.

It was, once upon a time, a wine cellar. In fact one small space about the size of a walk-in closet is still devoted to wine. The rest of it is divided into two spaces. One room about the size of, and almost directly under the master bedroom is a cozy little soundproof room where the previous owner's kids used to hold band practice. With the help of a good engineer and electrician Spencer figures it can be turned into a small studio. The rest of it is an open space games room.

Every time Spencer thinks about that house he thinks about that large, windowless room with its lush, almost-new carpet. In his mind's eye he travels past the strong walls and sturdy door, down under the earth where no one can see him. He pictures it with rugs on the floor and tapestries on the walls, cushions everywhere. Cozy and warm, comfortable and safe.

The sale goes through a couple of days before Spencer's supposed to head to L.A.. He puts his old place up for sale, moves most of his stuff into storage and leaves it all in his mom's capable hands. She thinks he's planning to move to L.A.. Everyone does. Spencer says he figures he won't need a real place for a while, and Brendon can just put up with him until they're back on tour. Maybe he'll get an apartment.

He tapes the keys to his new house to the inside back cover of the diary. They'll be safe enough there for now.

  
**   
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**   


It's probably the fact that they're sharing a room again that does it. Lying there on a crappy air mattress (seriously, would it have killed Brendon to have spent more than twenty bucks on the thing?) listening to Spencer breathe in the dark, it was a lot like the nights Ryan used to sleep over in Spencer's bedroom. A time for sharing confidences. Or something. Ryan's learning that he doesn't always know what makes Spencer tick anymore.

Whatever inspires it, Ryan's lying on his back, eyes mostly adjusted to the gloom and wondering if Brendon has put glow-in-the-dark stickers on his bedroom ceiling like he said he wanted to back in Maryland, when Spencer lets out a particularly loud breath and says "You're still awake, right?"

"No, I'm talking in my sleep," Ryan tells him. He's rewarded with the huff of breath that is Spencer's quietest laugh.

"Well wake up, asshole." Ryan hears Spencer's airbag rustle and pictures him pushing up on his elbows. "I want to talk."

"Shoot."

"You know where I was between Christmas and New Year's?"

"If I say "In Vegas at your mom's place" are you going to make some kind of obnoxious buzzing noise?"

"No, but only because it might wake Brendon up."

"Tell me Spencer," Ryan says, playing to his cue by using his very dryest monotone. "Where were you between Christmas and New Year's that you don't want Brendon to know about?"

"I was in New Mexico." And this pause isn't a cue, it's Spencer building up his courage to blurt something out. "At a Search gathering."

Suddenly Ryan is wide awake. He pushes himself into a sitting position, struggling a little because of the damn air mattress. "You're kidding."

"No! I signed up as a candidate on the website after we got home from tour." Ryan has to wonder if that was before or after they hashed things out. "When Haley broke up with me, I booked myself into the nearest gathering for the next new moon. A revenge thing, I guess."

"Hell of a way to get a rebound fling. You can't give your Chosen back."

"I know that, jackass. Do you want to hear about the gathering or not?"

Ryan knows he should want to. After all, whether or not Spencer took him seriously, he's doing something to address Ryan's worst fears. He's taking steps to make sure he lives. He's even doing it when the band is off tour and there won't be any disruption. So he bites down on his first instinctual reaction of "No! And I don't want you going to any more of those things either!" and says, "So tell me already."

Spencer talks for what seems like hours. Ryan tries to pretend he's tuned in. The results of the blood test aren't that surprising - Spencer's a natural leader, he knows how to make the hard decisions, he's great at maneuvering people into doing what he wants without their knowledge, and he's the best back-up Ryan's ever had in his corner. That Spencer is making a list of candidates he's met is the least shocking thing ever. Spencer likes to be organized, and a list *is* a good idea. The candidate he talks about most seems to be more a pity issue than any sort of predestined compatibility. It's reassuring. Oh God, Ryan's the worst best friend in *history*.

"Are you going to the next one?" he asks as Spencer winds down, pretending to yawn. There's only so long he can take this conversation. He thanks everything important that it didn't take place with the lights on. Spencer can read his face and body language like a book, and they would have stopped in the middle for some sort of talk about what was wrong.

"I'll probably skip the next couple - we're supposed to be hanging out and writing, I can't just take off for three days. And I probably don't want to visit the same pride more than once a year, so I'll need to figure out where else is convenient."

"Mmm hmm."

"Maybe you could help me plan out where?"

And what exactly is Ryan supposed to say to that? "Me?"

"No, the other asshole in the room with me."

"I dunno Spence," Ryan racks his brain for an acceptable reason. "Maybe you should do it yourself. Like, an instinct thing."

"Considering I probably won't Shift for four years, I think it's safe to say I don't need to be running on chiropteric instincts just yet."

"You have an answer for everything, don't you?" As soon as it leaves his mouth Ryan knows it's way more bitter than he meant it to be. "Okay wow. Sorry. I guess I'm tired." He says quickly. "Can we talk about this later? I mean with our schedule it's not like you'll get a lot of warning about which new moons you'll definitely be able to get away."

"Okay, sure." Spencer says slowly. Ryan thinks it's his "I'm not sure if anything is up with you" tone and not his "let's mollify the crazy person" tone. Or at least he hopes so. "It's been a long day, huh?"

"Pretty long." He pretends to yawn again, since it seems to be working. "I need some sleep or a midnight snack, and if I get up to find Brendon's kitchen we both know I'll just accidentally break something or myself."

Spencer chuckles. "I could get up and make you something, but then I bet I'd have to hear round two of why that air mattress sucks beyond belief tomorrow at breakfast, with bonus features about crumbs everywhere."

"Guess what finger I'm holding up right now?"

"I can see you well enough to know you're not holding up any of them."

"Good *night*, Spencer." Ryan rolls over, turning his back to Spencer and wrapping the sheets around himself.

"'Night Ry. Don't dream about food, you'll just wake up starving."

This doesn't merit a response, so Ryan just stays silent. Spencer chuckles again, and then settles himself in. It doesn't take long before his breathing evens out. Ryan listens to it all night. It doesn't lull him to sleep the way it used to.

  
**   
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**   


Hanging out at Brendon's is supposed to be another writing retreat. Kind of a writing sleep-over. Except it has only really been a couple of months since they got off tour and while playing with Brendon's music room and setting up the computers and shit is fun, no one really wants to get down to work.

Or well, that's what Ryan seems to be thinking and for the moment Spencer's indulging him. Ryan wants a California house too, and he's doing some house hunting, sometimes with Spencer, sometimes with Jon. It's fun to watch him pour through newspapers and websites and talk about where he wants to live. Part of Spencer would like to at least hear what everyone's written up until now, but a larger part isn't yet ready for the inevitable yelling. Or the glaring, snapping, sarcastic insults, huffs, slamming doors, stomping out and long sessions of the silent treatment.

Also, Brendon has taken up surfing. Being the scary secretly-athletic person that he is, he's taken to it like a fish to water. Spencer starts trailing along sometimes like he always does when Brendon gets into some sort of ill-advised activity like spontaneous tree-climbing and no one else seems to care whether or not Brendon breaks his neck. Except Brendon, the fucker, won't let Spencer stay safely on the beach and suddenly whole days go by that involve Brendon, a packed lunch, the beach and the waves.

It's supposed to be another of those days when Spencer wakes up and sees skies that look exceedingly ominous. He contemplates joining the house-hunting for about three seconds before rolling over and going back to sleep.

When he gets up, the second air mattress is empty. So is the kitchen, although the coffee pot is blessedly half-full. He puts together something resembling breakfast, feeding scraps to the dog as he goes. Brendon's car is still in the driveway, so he's somewhere in the house. After a moment's thought, Spencer heads to the music room

Brendon's sitting at his keyboard, headphones on and computer open. Spencer can see there's a good amount of work on the monitor. He watches for a while, Brendon seems pretty absorbed, but eventually he gets bored of hearing the clack of plastic keys and attempting to read music - high school music was a long time ago and even then the drumming charts were what he concentrated on - and taps on Brendon's shoulder.

Brendon jumps a mile and the headphones come off so fast Spencer's a little afraid Brendon's going to choke himself. "Uh... hi Spence." All of Spencer's alarms go off at once when Brendon attempts to give him the "I am so innocent" face. Brendon stopped thinking that shit worked on Spencer sometime before Maryland.

"What're you working on?" he asks, sitting himself down on the bench beside Brendon. "Can I hear?"

"Oh I'm just noodling around," Brendon says airily. "Nothing much."

Spencer gives him his best unimpressed face. "You seem to be labouring under the delusion that I just walked into the room, Urie."

Brendon's shoulders slump a little. "No, huh?"

"No. And I know what you look like when you're actually working." He says, poking Brendon, who yelps and flails. "Gimme the headphones, asshole."

With a sigh, Brendon hands them over. It takes Spencer maybe a measure and a half to know exactly why Brendon doesn't want to admit this is anything – Ryan will veto it in seconds flat. This is all fast synthesizers and complicated arrangements. Some of it sounds familiar, probably born out of the times on Rock Band when all Spencer wanted to do was make a lot of very loud, very fast noise. By the end of it, Spencer's hands are itching for his sticks.

"Are there words?" he asks, handing back the headphones.

"No," Brendon's eyes flick to the doorway. "Not yet."

"You should get on that." Spencer advises. "Also, the drums you programmed are way too basic. I'm insulted."

"Come up with something better, then." Brendon challenges.

They spend the rest of the afternoon doing just that. When it's time for a break they move to the kitchen. They're making dinner when Ryan and Jon come in. The subject of music doesn't come up for the rest of the night.

  
**   
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**   


When Ryan moves out, it's another excuse not to get anything done. Jon's visiting Ryan and Spencer's living with Brendon and it's all very weird. Ryan and Spencer still spend a lot of time texting, but there are spaces in their conversation where music should be.

Brendon and Spencer are having "jam sessions" now. They try to pretend they're just messing around, but Spencer knows he's not the only one who thinks they really have something here. Ryan will hate it and Jon will think it's overblown. Maybe they can give it to one of the baby bands on Decaydance? Brendon calls it their "side project" and spends more than one afternoon coming up with ridiculous names. Spencer wants to tell Ryan, but he doesn't know what to say. Especially once Ryan and Jon start up their own side project with Eric.

Valentine's day rolls around and Spencer clears out so Brendon can have Sarah down for a visit. Jon's gone home to Cassie, but that just means Ryan and Keltie will have the house to themselves. Spencer buys chocolates and flowers for Jackie and Crystal, like a good big brother. Or a pathetic loser, take your pick. They insist on him taking them out to dinner, because his sisters have a talent for taking a mile when he gives them *half* an inch.

The next day, he borrows a car and drives over to his secret house. He's getting to the point where he kind of wants to ask someone if it's crazy to have a house that no one knows about, but in order to do that, he'd have to explain that there *is* a house no one knows about. The place is just as perfect as he remembered. There's a list on the fridge that his agent left with contact information for local contractors. He slips that between a couple of pages of the diary, making a mental note to call someone and make an appointment for the next time he's actually in town. The power's off, so he's come equipped with a flashlight and emergency candles. Sitting in the basement with the candles lit is just as cozy as he thought it would be. He spends a few hours sprawled on the floor, idly making notations on chart paper. It's not a real drum line yet, but it could be. He'll have to run it by Brendon, see if it matches anything he's come up with.

He's just locking up the front door, feeling very much refreshed and recharged, when his phone rings. It's Jon.

"Jonny Walker," he drawls, walking out to the car. "Isn't there some sort of moratorium on you calling Vegas when you're in Chicago *specifically* to spend time with Cassie? Or are you hiding out in the bathroom like a real man?"

"I just wanted to check that Ryan's okay." Jon sounds tense, actually worried. Spencer's instantly alert.

"What's wrong with Ryan?"

"He didn't tell you? Man, I got a call yesterday afternoon. Keltie found a message on his phone from Z and the shit has truly hit the fan. I mean, he brought it on himself, I know, but he sounded kind of shaky last night."

"Who's Z?" Spencer demands. It sounds as if Jon's implying that Ryan's been cheating on Keltie. But that's impossible. Ryan thinks Keltie hung the moon and stars. He discovered whole new ways of smiling when he met her. Ryan's never been happier than with Keltie.

There's a long pause on Jon's end. "I think maybe you need to talk to Ryan, Spence."

"Tell me. What. Happened." Spencer has spent a very long time practicing his "I mean business" voice, and it serves him well.

"Keltie found out Ryan's got friends with benefits." Jon explains slowly. "On Valentine's Day. She's kicked him out. I think he's headed to Pete's. Or at least that's where I told him he should go. I just called to check up on him, but I got his voicemail."

"Okay." Spencer leans against the car, he's having trouble keeping steady. "I'll call Pete, see if Ryan got there okay. Maybe he turned it off once he got there."

"Or maybe he just let his phone battery run down again," Jon says, sounding a little amused, and definitely more normal. "Text me when you find him. I'll see you soon."

"Say hi to Cassie for me," Spencer says, on automatic. He hangs up, and his knees stop supporting him. He slides down the side of the car to sit on the driveway. He feels dizzy, and more than a little nauseous. Ryan called Jon.

Ryan had a major problem, and he took it to Jon.

Ryan broke up with Keltie, and he went to Jon.

Ryan was hurting and he talked to somebody else.

Spencer's world has gone off-kilter. A little nausea seems only appropriate.

Spencer thought he'd been resigned to second place in Ryan's life ever since that smile had shown up, the heartfelt, carefree, unconditionally happy smile that only Keltie seemed to produce in Ryan. He'd accepted that in fourteen years of friendship, he'd never made Ryan that happy, so clearly Keltie deserved first place. Besides, people grow up. People change. Now Keltie's gone... and Spencer is still in second.

Spencer isn't sure he likes the fact that his reaction to this is so violent. He really is a few seconds away from actually throwing up. Surely he had stopped defining himself as "Ryan Ross' keeper" at some point, right? Ryan hasn't needed him for a while. There was that time with the hot water and electricity but staying at Spencer's had just been a stop-gap until Keltie had fixed the bills. Spencer hadn't even thought of fixing the problem for him. And of course on the Rock Band tour, Ryan had made it eminently clear that he thought they were growing apart. Apology or no apology, that part still stands.

But apparently some part of Spencer still wants Ryan to need him. That Ryan is several miles away in California while Spencer is home in Vegas doesn't matter. If Ryan was hurting, if Ryan had gone to that self-destructive place in his head and messed up his relationship... why hadn't he called? How come Spencer has never even heard of "Z"? Why was it Jon that Ryan had gone to? Sure, Jon's an awesome friend and songwriting partner, but he's not *Spencer*. But that doesn't seem to matter to Ryan anymore.

It's not until the shadows creeping across the ground alert him to the sun setting that Spencer manages to get back to his feet and into his car. He'll call Pete from his old bedroom. It's safer that way.

  
**   
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**   


Ryan sits on the floor of Pete's guest bedroom and tries hard not to think. He's never been very good at that, especially in a quiet room with pretty much no distractions, but he tries anyway. If he thinks, he'll remember, and remembering hurts.

The idea of Keltie finding out about Z had never crossed his mind, much less the idea that she might not take the fact that he occasionally has sex with his female friends for a variety of reasons very well. He hadn't really thought of it as *cheating*. Keltie was his girlfriend. Everyone involved knew that. He loved her. A lot. The other stuff had been comfort sex or stoned sex or bored sex, nothing deeper than that. It was just part of being friends. He hadn't meant to hurt her.

Worse than the realization that he had hurt Keltie was that moment when he was sitting outside her apartment trying to figure out what to do next. His first reaction had been "Spencer will know what to do." He's been trying so *hard* to stop being the clingy best friend, to step back and give Spencer the space to grow up and move on. He'd actually thought he was making some progress, as painful as it was. Apparently not.

Calling Jon had been hard, and coming to Pete's, even worse. His phone is off and hidden in the kitchen. As long as he can't get to it, he can't call Spencer and get him to fix everything.

Ryan knows that Spencer's called a few times, but he can't bring himself to call yet. He talks to Jon occasionally, mostly talking through song ideas. Jon's song ideas don't have any of the sharp, broken edges or raw spaces that Ryan's thoughts all seem to have right now and it helps keep him steady. After Fever he'd promised himself that he was done with angry and raw. The words feel good coming out, and even being sung the first couple of times, but once the press gets hold of them and start asking all their pointed questions, it turns everything into a mess.

Pete takes him out on the town a couple of times. Maggie and Patrick come along and the paparazzi get in some shots. Ryan knows they'll just feed the rumours that he and Pete are dating, but he seems to be the only one that minds. Pete laughs the idea off, and Patrick doesn't get that flash of possessiveness he used to. It's nice to see Pete settled, relaxed like Ryan has never seen him before. Sometimes it makes him think of him and Keltie. Mostly he thinks of Spencer, who's never quite relaxed since their fight at the end of Rock Band. He knows he's supposed to want Spencer to achieve the same level of happiness that Pete has found. He finds himself dreaming up ways to make Spencer laugh again.

They let Ryan hide for over a month. Eventually, Patrick points out that he does have shows to play in a few weeks, and he needs to rehearse with his band. Ryan suspects Brendon might have called, Brendon tends to get overenthusiastic about rehearsal. Maggie declares that the orphanage is always open for him, and if he wants to come back, he can have the same guest room.

In a strange twist from the normal, it's Jon who picks him up to rehearse at Brendon's.

"Don't look so happy to see me, Ross." Jon laughs.

"I was expecting Spencer," he explains, only half relieved. "I thought Brendon was going to sic him on me."

"Spencer needed a couple of days away from Brendon." Jon shrugs. "They've been living practically in each other's pockets for months, I don't blame the dude. He's out of town. He'll be back in a day or two."

It only takes a second for Ryan to consult the lunar calendar in his head. It's the new moon. Spencer's gone to another Search gathering.

Since it's Jon he's facing and not Spencer, Ryan does a pretty good job of pretending he's just fine.

  
**   
_#####_   
**   


Spencer had been intending to go to North Carolina for the March Search gathering in Jacksonville. He had reserved a place via the website and even booked a flight. But somehow, instead of being in a taxi on his way to LAX, he's in a rental car on his way to Vegas. He's had a picture of Ryan holed up at Pete's house stuck in his head for days, mixing around with his great great great grandmother's words about Search gatherings and "sanctuary". A safe place to hole up away from everyone else. Somehow this lead to calling the various utilities to get power, water and gas turned on at his secret house in Vegas. And now he's on his way there to meet an interior decorator.

She's friendly and professional, and would clearly love to decorate the whole place. She enthuses over the natural light and the arches and the general warmth in the space. But Spencer's only interested in one room. He leads her into the basement and presents her with the former games room. He can see her face fall a little – with no windows, and no real defining characteristics, there's not much to get excited about. The only "feature" in the room is the almost-new, thick broadloom carpet that tempts Spencer into walking around in bare feet every time he enters.

"So, tell me what you're thinking," she says, after taking a 360 degree look. She holds a pen and notepad ready. She probably thinks Spencer's about to request a pimped-out version of the games room it used to be.

"I want tapestries," he explains, gesturing at the walls. "I don 't really care what colour the walls are painted, or even if you re-do them at all. I don't want to see them. I want the walls to be almost as soft as the floor. Thick, rich tapestries, preferably handmade, floor to ceiling. I want warm colours, reds and purples and golds."

This gets her attention. She glances around the space again, nodding. "Handmade is more expensive, of course, especially for tapestries and rugs of that size. Do you have a price point?"

Spencer bites down hard on the part of him that's demanding he tell her that price is no object. He's not made of money. "I'd *prefer* handmade," he repeats, "but I can't go above a hundred thousand dollars for the whole room." It's about double what it would cost to renovate the kitchen, but this room is *important*.

"I can certainly work with that." She makes a note. "And for furniture?"

"Casual." He says. "Soft. No real chairs or sofas. No leather or vinyl or anything."

"Fabric everything."

"Right. And lots of cushions, pillows and stuff. Maybe somewhere to stow some blankets?"

"As much handmade as possible?" She checks, still scribbling notes. "Stop me if I'm off the mark. You're looking for warm, lush and soft... not so much harem tent as grown-up blanket fort, am I right?"

Spencer can't help the blush. "Yeah, that's about it."

"Can I make a suggestion?" She says, ignoring his discomfort. "Instead of the one overhead light you have right now, you might want to go with a few potlights, possibly on a dimmer?"

A dimmer sounds right to him, the ability to keep the room lit but intimate. "You have an electrician in mind?"

"I have one or two I work with on a regular basis, plus a general contractor to open the ceiling. Obviously we'd have to check what the wiring will stand, but I'm sure it wouldn't be a problem."

"That sounds fine." It sounds like a bit of work and Spencer's beginning to worry about supervision. He can't just disappear off to Vegas for days on end, especially as they're about to play shows in Africa in a week and a half.

"All right." She packs away her notebook and extends her hand. "Give me a few days, I'll send you some mock-ups and fabric samples. I have your address in Los Angeles. Are you going to be able to come into town often, or should I ask for a key?"

It's a little painful, giving up the spare key. The same part of Spencer that wants to spare no expense making this room absolutely perfect also insists that this is *not* the person to whom the spare key belongs. Reason wins out over instinct again, and he hands over the key.

To calm his itching nerves he visits his storage space to retrieve his vacuum cleaner and other cleaning supplies, and all the boxes marked "kitchen". He follows this up with a visit to the local grocery store for a bunch of non-perishable food. It takes him the rest of the day and most of the next to unpack, stock up and clean to his satisfaction, but finally something inside him settles. The house is almost ready.

  
**   
_#####_   
**   


The trip to South Africa is surreal. Sometimes it seems like it wasn't so very long ago that they were practicing in Spencer's grandmother's house. Now they're playing Capetown. It gives everyone something to talk about other than the fact that Jon and Ryan have been more interested in writing things with Eric than showing music to Brendon and Spencer, or that Brendon and Spencer have started adding in their own guitar and bass parts to the stuff they really like. They've almost stopped saying things like "Ryan can change this later".

Ryan is rooming with Jon and Spencer is rooming with Brendon. It might be a little awkward, except that everyone is in and out of the two rooms exclaiming "Did you see that?" or "I can't believe this is happening!" until it almost seems as if they're sharing one big suite.

Ryan and Jon even pull out their guitars and noodle in random places, with or without made up, silly lyrics. Ryan manages to get Spencer to keep the beat for them once, mainly by pointedly *not* offering a tambourine, shaker, or any other non-drum instrument for Spencer's use. Spencer claps along for them and tries to feel more included and less like a prop.

If they don't seem enthusiastic about playing live, it can easily be excused by their excitement over the entire experience. They're just overwhelmed and overawed. That's it.

The safari is particularly awesome. Proud, wild, fierce animals watch them from only feet away. Brendon is awed into unnatural stillness, his voice heavy and quiet. Spencer looks over at Ryan and for the first time in a while, reads a message in his expression:

_Would you eat one, if you were shifted?_

_I *could* eat one. _

_Yeah but I bet you wouldn't. _

For the first time, Spencer actually wants to shift, almost wills himself to try. To do what? Prove a point? Win an argument? Impress Ryan? Spencer slouches down a little and tips his hat further down across his eyes.

Unfortunately the rare moment of bonding doesn't stretch into the evening's rehearsal. They're still just going through the motions. Spencer's tired. Once upon a time, the music was the whole point, sometimes the only fun thing in life. When did it become something to just *survive*? Ryan and Jon take off as soon as they're done, moving quickly offstage. Spencer comes down from behind his kit more slowly, one of the risers has been a little wobbly and the last thing they need is for him to take a header.

Brendon is still sitting at the keyboard, playing something. It's probably a variation on something Spencer doesn't know - Brendon's musical knowledge is encyclopedic - but it sounds as sad and tired and frustrated as Spencer feels.

"Is this just part of the writing process?" Brendon asks without looking up.

"It is until we say otherwise," Spence answers, trying to sound definite and determined.

"When I was doing press yesterday, I told one of the reporters I was working on a side project with you." Brendon trails his fingers across the keys. "Is it a side project if I'm more interested in working on stuff with you than going into a studio and finding out what they want us to play?"

Brendon has always had the courage to speak his mind, whether it means annoying Ryan or scaring Spencer.

"It's just more interesting because it's new." Spencer argues.

"I call bullshit, Spencer Smith." Brendon says. "And if this goes on much longer I'm going to be saying it where they can hear me, too."

  
**   
_#####_   
**   


It's normal for them to need a little downtime from each other after a tour. For Jon to stay with Ryan instead of going back to Chicago and yet for there to be no real communication between Brendon's house and Ryan's house is just another sign that things are Very Wrong. Spencer is definitely getting a little fidgety.

It doesn't help that less than seventy-two hours after they arrive back in California, Spencer gets a call from the Crush offices.

"No Doubt is looking for local openers on their summer tour." He's told. "Established bands big enough to handle arenas. Do you want to open for the Vegas date in August? There's a possibility of one or two more if they have slots free."

"I..."

Spencer doesn't get struck speechless very often, so its not a surprise that he attracts Brendon's attention. He makes flying hand gestures that probably mean "What's going on?" Spencer puts their manager on hold.

"No Doubt wants us to open for the Vegas date of their tour. Just a one-off. Maybe two."

Brendon's eyes go big and he starts vibrating. "Oh my God, of COURSE, just say yes already!"

"Brendon..." It's very very hard to say the words, worse because just the tone makes Brendon deflate a little. "What about Ryan and Jon?"

"It's No Doubt." Brendon says stubbornly. "They'd be idiots to say no. Say yes, and we can call a band meeting."

It's very, very tempting. August is both far away and too close. If they book a gig for August, that means Spencer is contractually guaranteed to still have a band in August. Spencer is really really not ready to put down his drumsticks and give up yet.

The Ryan in his head is already arguing. Perversely, that makes Spencer take the phone off hold. "Book it." He says, determinedly. "A one-off won't hurt us."

"Awesome. We've also got a couple of song commissions for you guys to look at..."

Just the thought of songwriting makes Spencer's stomach ache. He closes his eyes. "Email them around and give us a deadline. We'll let you know."

"You could just send us the latest demos and we could pick something..." their manager hints.

"This way works better." Spencer says, using his best "I am in charge" voice. How it actually works on anyone from Crush he doesn't know, seeing as how these people have known him since he was seventeen. But it does. Their manager concedes defeat quietly and soon the call is over. Spencer's next move should be to call Ryan and Jon.

He looks at the phone.

He looks at Brendon.

"Want to go surfing?"

  
**   
_#####_   
**   


Seeing as how Spencer and Brendon are barely talking to Jon and Ryan, it's easy to let days slip by without mentioning that hey, they have shows booked.

There's still a lot of surfing going on, but the shows in South Africa had been more physically challenging than Spencer expected – it's time to at least get back to practicing regularly. He and Brendon start spending a little time in Brendon's practice room every day. Brendon brings out half-finished songs for them to learn, shape, and practice with. Spencer takes to keeping a pen and notebook on practically every flat surface in Brendon's house so he can capture the random phrases Brendon sings out at any given time. Suddenly they have a couple of songs.

Two things happen in rapid succession. Brendon comes to him and says, "So I might have sent off a couple of things to management to see if they'll fit the requests they sent you."

And then Ryan calls. "I was out at a show last night, and the craziest thing happened!" He says, "I was talking to some fans and they wanted to know about the shows we're doing opening for No Doubt! No Doubt! Can you believe that? I told them it was just a rumour. Why would we go back to opening for people when we could be doing our own shows?"

Spencer's going to be sick. "I think maybe we need a band meeting."

By the time the band meeting happens a few days later at Brendon's house, there's another offer on the table. Blink 182 is doing a reunion tour, probably with Fall Out Boy as one of the main supports, and they're offering Panic some of the opening slots, dates to be determined.

Ryan and Jon look alternately confused and guilty as Spencer lays down the offer.

"I dunno, guys. I mean it's Blink and that's awesome, but I don't know if we want to go out as openers again. Especially with Fall Out Boy. We'll never get rid of the comparisons if we keep touring with them." Is Ryan's reaction.

"We haven't toured with them in years," Brendon points out. "Maybe hearing us side-by-side again will help stop the comparisons. Not that we ever sounded anything like them, but the last time we were on tour with them nobody really knew who we were."

"You really want to give up control again?" Ryan demands. "Have somebody else running the show? You remember what an opening slot means, right? Tiny dressing rooms and not always enough time for soundcheck."

"How many of our fans are Blink-182 fans, anyway?" Jon asks. "I kind of like playing to the crowd – our fans are loud but the pit's going to be full of the hard-core Blink fans, right? Our audience is going to be up in the bleachers somewhere. That's no fun."

"You really don't want to tour with Mark Hoppus?" Spencer says. "You don't think we could learn anything from those guys?"

"We learned plenty from them when we were teenagers. But we're not a Blink-182 cover band anymore." Ryan argues.

"You know what's *great*?" Brendon suddenly puts in sarcastically. "Nobody's saying "hey, we can't do a tour, we'll be in studio, recording new stuff"."

Ryan and Jon look anywhere but at Brendon.

"Maybe we *should* say no. After all, we can barely stand to be in the same room as each other while we're playing instruments. You know what I did the other day?" he asks, and that's the mean twist to Brendon's voice that Spencer hates, but there's no derailing him now. "Management asked for new stuff for a movie soundtrack, and I sent them a couple of tracks Spencer and I were working on. Maybe I should email to say we need to put a new band name on them."

Ryan is out and out furious. Spencer's a little afraid he's going to throw something. Or start whaling on Brendon. "How could you do something like that?" He spits out. "You can't just unilaterally *decide* things, Brendon. There are still four people in this band."

"Yeah?" Brendon gets right in his face. "Don't tell me you and Jon haven't been working on music, just like me and Spencer have. But nobody wants to share, do they? We might be *in* this band, but nobody's writing any music for it." Spencer winces. Brendon turns on his heel and marches out of the room.

"I can't *believe* that idiot!" Ryan snaps. "He doesn't get to decide things like that. Is he saying he's quitting? He can't just declare the band over without talking to people!" He wheels on Spencer. "You didn't go along with any of this, did you?"

"I helped him finish the songs," Spencer admits. "I didn't know he was going to send them out, but I probably should have." They've all spent a lot of time with their heads in the sand, though.

"I'm going to call management, tell them what they've got are Brendon Urie solo tracks." Ryan raves. And that stings. Rationally, Spencer knows it's Ryan's way of excusing Spencer from what he sees as Brendon's treachery, but those songs are Spencer's too. He doesn't exactly just sit around the recording studio waiting for someone to tell him what to play.

"Yeah, well before you call management, you might want to know Brendon's not the only one who can make unilateral decisions." This is not the way he should say it, but he's in the mood to be vicious, not apologetic. "Those No Doubt shows you were so sure were a rumour? I signed us up for those."

There is absolute silence for about ten seconds and then all Spencer registers is the smack of pain in his jaw. He staggers backwards. Ryan is staring at him with a mixture of hurt and fury in his eyes, cradling his right fist.

"I think it's time for us to go," Jon says, putting his hands on Ryan's shoulders. Spencer hates him for being the laid-back son of a bitch he is, but he makes no protest, just watches them leave.

  
**   
_#####_   
**   


Spencer has just about cooled down when Brendon comes to him with an email that Ryan must have sent from his phone while he and Jon were still driving back to Ryan's place. It's full of words like "dictatorial" and "no spirit of compromise" and if Spencer was in a mood to read between the lines there's probably some feeling of "I'm sorry I hit you, even if I sort of think I had to", and it ends with Ryan and Jon leaving the band.

"So," Brendon says mock cheerfully, "Since we're the only members of Panic at the Disco left, I think we should go ahead and sign up for the Blink tour. It's not like we couldn't get a guitarist and bassist with enough grasp on the basics to replace them for a couple of weeks."

"Hey," Spencer protests weakly, but the whole thing is just so sickening, his automatic "protect-Ryan" reflex has gone on the fritz.

"Seriously, though." Brendon says. "I don't care whether we make up with them or not, I'm not going to quit making music, and I don't think you're ready to head to college or some shit either. Call management and tell them we'll do it and damn the torpedoes."

It takes Spencer a few days to realize Brendon's serious. They're days filled with complete radio silence from Ryan and Jon. And for all Brendon's insistence that they're still going to make music, neither of them set foot in the practice room either. Some part of Spencer knew it was coming, but not like this. Not ugly, and hurting and worse than the last days of tour.

He sends Ryan an email.

> Brendon wants me to accept the Blink tour. I really, really want to, but if you and Jon aren't serious about quitting, or even just aren't sure yet, let me know before three pm tomorrow and I'll turn it down.
> 
> I think we both know the music part of this has been coming for a while. But nobody wanted to talk about it and it ended up fucking with my head too much. I should have called you guys about the No Doubt offer, but I knew it would just make the music arguments happen faster.
> 
> Whether or not I can work with you as a drummer, I still want to be your friend, Ryan. Help me fix this.

He's actually a little surprised that Ryan answers.

> Music's going better now we've said it. Hate what you did. Jon doesn't want you and me to end up like Bill and Tom. Don't call me, I'll call you. Maybe a few weeks.

It's better than Spencer hoped for. He tells management they'll do the Blink tour, and warns them not to expect new material before then. He doesn't say anything about Ryan and Jon – he wants to talk to Ryan about it first.

  
**   
_#####_   
**   


Spencer takes Ryan at his word and doesn't call, but after a week Ryan does start getting emails. No commentary, just links to youtube, to news articles, to pictures from Shane's twitter feed. That he isn't mad enough at Spencer to delete even the first one without opening it is probably some sort of sign.

Once they've decided that yes, this is it, they're starting their own band, Jon pretty much leaves Ryan in charge of communicating with Brendon and Spencer. This more or less boils down to "communicating with Spencer" since he and Brendon no longer have much to say to each other.

Since the disaster that led to that final fight, Spencer has been scrupulous about checking in with Ryan about things that still need his input. Pete's figured out something's up, should Spencer tell him? (Oh God yes, Ryan's not having that conversation with Pete ever if humanly possible.) Management wants a phone meeting, should Spencer stall? Does Ryan want to be in on it to break the news?

Ryan lets Spencer handle almost all of it, until finally management is pushing to release Brendon's new song as a single off of the movie soundtrack. "I get that you want me to deal with management, but we're going to have to announce something soon. We need to get our stories straight. Lunch?"

Ryan arrives early to the place they decided on, and waiting is a special kind of hell. He's not sure who he's here to meet, the ultra-polite professional who has consulted him on every step of the break-up process, the guy who went behind his back to book shows and followed it up by letting Brendon set the musical tone of the band, or Spencer, his best friend. Apart from the links and forwards, Ryan hasn't heard from that Spencer in almost a month.

Spencer looks good when he walks in. Ryan knows that he and Brendon have taken up surfing, which has lead to a nice tan and a ridiculous amount of freckles on Spencer. He has his sunglasses propped up on top of his head like a total dork, which relaxes Ryan just a little. At least this new surfing, Brendon-backing person is still as dorky as Ryan's Spencer. God forbid Spencer become smooth and corporate, writing for The Man or whatever.

It takes Spencer a second to locate Ryan's table, and when he comes over it's not with the confident stride Ryan always expects from him. He's moving cautiously, weaving slowly between the tables, extra-careful not to knock into anything. It's as if he expects Ryan to bolt at any minute. It calms Ryan down a little – at least they're both nervous. It gives him the courage to kick out Spencer's seat as he approaches the table, just like he used to when he woke up early at the Smiths' house and beat Spencer down to breakfast.

Spencer recognizes the gesture and grins a little, sliding into the seat. "Hi."

"Hi." It's kind of lame, but it's all Ryan can think of to say. What exactly is the etiquette when you're negotiating the dissolution of your band with the guy who's been your best friend since he was five?

"I'm not sure whether I want to get this over with now and then eat, or delay this as much as possible by eating first." Spencer admits with a grimace.

"Equal odds of throwing up." Ryan agrees. "I ordered coffee, but I don't know if I can eat, either."

Spencer rummages in his old tour backpack and comes up with a folder full of papers.

"It's sad," he says when they've both stared at it for a minute. "The whole band reduced to a bunch of stupid red tape."

"This is worse than Brent." It's maybe the worst possible thing to say, so of course it comes tumbling out of Ryan's mouth. Spencer's answering laugh is harsh.

"This is way worse than Brent. But if we don't do this, it's going to get uglier than just one punch in the face."

Ryan can barely remember actually throwing the punch, he just remembers the pain in his hand and the resigned look on Spencer's face. He draws a breath to apologize. Spencer, apparently still in possession of the Ross-Smith telepathy, holds up a hand. "Can we just agree that we both did shitty things and that we're going to try to be less shitty to each other from now on?"

Ryan nods wordlessly.

"Good." Spencer sighs. "I hate fighting with you."

"Me too."

Spencer raises an eyebrow at him which reads _Oh my god this is turning into a romance novel_. The weight of the world suddenly lifts from Ryan's shoulders and he laughs.

"Okay Smith, walk me through the goddamn paperwork."

It's easy, so very easy to say that of course Brendon and Spencer can perform whatever they want from the back catalogue. Ryan doesn't want to touch any of it. Maybe one or two off of Pretty Odd, but no reason they can't both have what will probably end up as wildly different versions of the same song. The only bump in the road is a technicality – Spencer points out that Jon won't be getting any more royalties from anything related to Fever. Ryan forgets sometimes that Jon wasn't there for Maryland, didn't write, didn't record. It's a little jarring to think about it.

The entire history of the band takes less than half an hour to settle on paper. They both take notes and Spencer promises to scan everything for Ryan's records.

"I saved the best for last," Spencer announces, slipping the folder back into his backpack. "Brendon wanted to make sure I told you – we're putting the exclamation point back in."

Ryan groans and hits his head on the table. "Oh my God I hate you both."

Spencer reaches over to pat him on the head. "Don't worry, it's mutual." The tone is teasing, and when Ryan looks up, Spencer is smiling.

"It's kind of weird," he muses, well aware that his mouth is going ahead of his brain again, but sure that Spencer will get what he means. "We started the whole thing in your parents' garage. And now it's back down to just the two of us, breaking up the band over coffee." He studies Spencer for a second. "Are you sure you're okay with this?"

"I'm okay with this." Spencer assures him. "We've been miserable for months."

"I just... couldn't do it anymore." He confesses. "I couldn't face Brendon in another recording studio. I've always been bad at making my ideas fit other people's, you know that. If we'd somehow managed to make another record... it wouldn't have felt like mine."

"I was willing to try," Spencer says. That's not news, Spencer's always willing to try. "I just couldn't figure out what was going to happen the first time you shot down an idea I liked. I might have quit the band all by myself." His eyes sparkle a little. "At least this way I get a guitarist or keyboard player out of the deal."

Ryan grins back.

"I feel like this is the place where I should ask how the music's going, but I really, really am not ready to know right now." Spencer tells him. "But you'll send us some stuff? Brendon wants to hear too, even if he's not ready to admit it yet."

"No, no, I get it." Ryan waves him off. "I don't want to know either. But we will totally play stuff for each other. Guaranteed. Just not right now."

"Deal."

They both toss down money on the table and move to the exit together. Ryan recognizes Spencer's car at the opposite end of the lot to his. They stop, and look at each other. It's an end, but it's also a beginning. Ryan's very glad they didn't eat anything. He couldn't say whether the butterflies in his stomach are anticipation or straight-out fear.

"Oh my God, come here." Spencer's hug is just as safe and solid as they always are. The knowledge that Ryan's going to be getting a lot fewer of them from now on is definitely scary. "I promised, remember? Drummer or not. Always."

"Well, Spencer Smith," he drawls, stepping back. "With you in my corner, how can this new band *not* be awesome?"

"That's the spirit." Spencer looks oddly proud of him. Ryan can't help bouncing a little. A whole new band, and Spencer still wants to be his friend. It's a good day.

  
**   
_#####_   
**   


Spencer is sitting on the couch staring up at Brendon somewhat blearily. He's been back from lunch with Ryan for about half an hour and it's still sinking in.

"You look like you've been hit by a bus, dude." Brendon's saying. Spencer has the vague impression Brendon's been rambling worriedly for a few minutes. He *feels* like he's been hit by a bus.

"Ryan's *happy*."

"You sure as heck don't look happy." Brendon finally sits down next to him. "Are you *positive* you want to stick with me?"

"You need a drummer." Spencer points out, trying to shake himself out of the odd fugue state he's in. He's made this decision already, what the fuck? "Also, I live here."

"It's just, if you'd told me even a year ago that we were going to split the band in half, I would have said it would be you with Ryan and me with Jon."

Spencer snorts. "Even a year ago, hell three years ago, you and Jon wouldn't have made any more musical sense than you do now."

"Don't be a dick. You know what I mean."

"I know." He does, but it isn't going to do any good to listen to that little voice. It's *over*. Spencer stretches, trying to wake himself up a little. "Ryan and I will be cool again eventually. I think today was almost like... he was asking my permission to go do stuff without me."

It's Brendon's turn to snort. "Hate to say it bro, but your baby boy is *far* from all grown up."

Spencer grabs the nearest cushion and thumps Brendon in the stomach. "No pointless smack talk against Ryan," he says while Brendon's still doubled-over. "Things haven't changed *that* much."

"Things have changed for me..." Brendon sings, still a little winded. Spencer rolls his eyes but lets Brendon wriggle and squirm until his head lands in Spencer's lap. "A bad man hit me, Spencer," he pouts. "I need tummy rubs."

"Oh my God," he mock-protests, starting to rub gentle circles over Brendon's belly. "I should call Jon. We can commiserate over how hard it is to be the only grown-up in a band."

"You know who we should call?" Brendon muses after a moment.

"Pete?"

"Yeah." He sighs a little. "Lay our cards on the table."

Spencer looks down at Brendon, who, despite his position is starting to assume his determined face. The first time he'd seen that expression on Brendon's face was when Brendon was assuring Ryan that he would be able to make up his share of the practice space rent, "No matter what."

Something clicks at the back of his mind. "Yeah, we should." He says, already formulating a plan. "We should probably have some good news for him too. How many demos are ready?"

"Hmmm... four or five? I dunno, we'd have to listen to them again."

"So we call, we tell him the bad news, tell him we'll send some demos tonight and then we can have a meeting in a couple of days?"

"You know Spencer Smith, that sounds suspiciously like doing some work and getting on with things."

"I'm the grown-up, it's what we do."

"You're a horrible taskmaster. Expecting me to work when our band has just broken in two. I need at least a year to mourn." Spencer would very much like to agree with Brendon, but he lets Brendon think his dramatics are working.

"I'll give you half an hour, and then I'm calling Pete. And you're going to talk this time, too."

"Mean!" Brendon gasps. He turns thoughtful. "Can we do a Ben and Jerry's run before we listen to the tracks again?"

"As long as you're not planning to sing tomorrow."

"How can I sing without the esteemed lyrical mastermind to give me his glorious words?"

Spencer pokes him in the stomach again, and stands up while Brendon is curled up on himself. "Fuck it, I'm calling Pete now. The two of you can mourn together."

  
**   
_#####_   
**   


It is possible that Spencer was more nervous going to Pete's house the first time Panic ever went to hang out in LA, but he doesn't remember it being quite this bad. Of course the first time he was nervous about hanging out with Pete and possibly doing something dumb enough to lose the record contract. Now he's nervous about losing his band.

"Oh my God calm down!" Brendon says, ringing the doorbell. "This is only a strategy meeting. I'm pretty sure Pete will let us get away with ordering in sushi and watching the Goonies if we want to. Unless he was a lot more upset about Ryan and Jon than you said?"

"No," Spencer admits, "He was pretty cool with it."

"See? Cool with it. And the demos we have for him are awesome. He'll love us."

"He loved the wolf sessions, Brendon."

"Yeah, but I didn't *get* the wolf stuff." Pete points out, opening the door. "Price of entry is one demo CD, hand it over." He offers his palm and waits patiently for Brendon to dig the CD out of his knapsack. "Awesome. C'mon through to the back, Maggie's barbecuing."

"Wait, Maggie's here?" Brendon puts on his most dramatic pout. "I thought we were *special*, Pete."

Spencer's too nervous to have the requisite amount of patience for dealing with Brendon and attempting to explain Maggie. He shoves him forward, nearly knocking Pete off balance in the process, and escapes to the back patio. Maggie is indeed holding court over the grill, wearing a worn looking Clan t-shirt that might have been Patrick's and a pair of jeans, with her red hair pulled back in a messy, slowly-unraveling braid. Patrick's sitting on a lounge chair noodling on a guitar. He nods in greeting.

"Hi Spencer," Maggie waves a pair of tongs at him. "Real meat or fake meat?"

"Real meat." It's the easiest decision he's made all week and he's suddenly ten times more relaxed, not to mention profoundly grateful. "Is that some sort of Nurturer thing?"

"It's called a bar-be-kew," she says, enunciating slowly. "I know Pete isn't allowed near fire without the entire local fire department there to supervise, and Patrick's likely to burn everything composing some sort of sonata in honour of fire or cave-dwellers or something. What's your excuse?"

"I can barbecue!" He protests. "I meant the whole making me relax within ten seconds of walking into a room with you."

She shrugs. "Could be a little. The instincts aren't limited to my triad. They're not even limited to my species."

"You have instincts not limited to your species?" Brendon asks, following Pete outside. "Kinky. Hi Maggie! And Patrick!" He's pretending enthusiasm, but there's definitely confusion underneath it. Brendon's met Maggie before, but he's clearly unsure what "Patrick's girlfriend" is doing at what's supposed to be an informal business meeting.

"Hey Brendon! Spencer didn't tell you we were coming, huh?" Patrick says, dumping Spencer directly from frying pan to fire.

Brendon blinks. Looks at Spencer. Spencer has the immediate urge to move closer to Maggie. Definitely a Nurturer thing.

"You guys go over there, sit down and start talking." Maggie waves a spatula menacingly in their direction. "I will make sure the house doesn't burn down while you're hashing stuff out."

"I thought *I* was the one in charge of this relationship," Patrick grumbles good-naturedly, moving back to his deck chair and gesturing at the others.

"I think tonight maybe that's Spencer?" Pete smirks, claiming some space on Patrick's chair. "I thought we were just here as props and teaching materials."

"My night is getting kinkier by the minute." Brendon's covering uncertainty with humour, which is never a good sign. "Spencer, what exactly have you got planned?"

"Oh my God, I'm going to kill you all." Spencer declares. Brendon laughs and flops down onto a chair.

"Well that's reassuring. He still *sounds* like Spencer."

"I have always been Spencer!" Spencer has to take a deep breath. Brendon's just pushing his buttons, he can see that by the glint in Brendon's eye. Diffusing tension by ramping it up. Brendon has always been weird.

"So, school me on the deeper mysteries of Spencer Smith." Brendon flings his arms wide. "And definitely explain the props."

That needs another breath. Then Spencer decides to sit down. If he starts pacing he'll just get himself more worked up. "Okay, it's like this." He looks Brendon in the eye. "When I was twelve, I found out there are some interesting genes lurking in my family tree, and I'm the next one in line to have inherited them."

"With you so far."

"And when I say "interesting" I mean, "not entirely human"." Spencer doesn't pause for interruptions. "I come from a race called the Chiropteri. When I get old enough, around twenty-five, I'll be able to shape-shift into a completely different form."

And that's Brendon's "you're fucking with me" look. Spencer nods towards Pete and Patrick. "Pete, Patrick and Maggie are all chiropteri too. They're old enough to shift back and forth whenever they want, so I wanted them to demonstrate for me."

"No seriously, you're fucking with me." Brendon sounds a little pissed. "Oh my God, Wentz, my eyes! Put your clothes back on!"

But Pete's already done skinning out of his layers, now draped haphazardly across the back of Patrick's chair. He walks calmly to the fence that separates patio from pool, then turns to face them. He takes a running jump and shifts in mid-air, soaring over their heads.

"If you crash into the third-floor windows again, I'm making you replace them by hand, Peter!" Maggie threatens as he does a backwards loop, his tail just missing one of the windows.

"Holy shit," Brendon whispers. Fortunately for Spencer, he sounds awed instead of scared. "Holy *shit*, dude."

That was pretty much what Spencer thought when he and Ryan had seen Pete fly for the first time, back on the Nintendo Fusion tour. He grins at Brendon a little. "I know, right?"

"I am totally jealous over here. That's way more awesome than surfing." Brendon says, still craning his neck to watch Pete. Spencer has a vision of Pete in chiroptera form crouched on a surfboard. He's not sure whether or not the waterlogged fur would make the experience worth it.

Pete comes in for a landing, laying his head on Patrick's lap for pets and scratches. Some things never change. Brendon stares.

Pete is just as slender for a chiroptera as he is for a human - slight and sleek with a long tail and neck. He's a fraction taller than Spencer when he sits on his haunches. His fur is dark brown with black mane and wings. Having received enough attention from Patrick for right now he raises his head and cocks it in Brendon's direction.

"Can I..." Brendon's hand is half-outstretched already.

Patrick laughs. "It's his favourite thing."

Brendon doesn't have the reverence in his eyes that Ryan did when Spencer first watched him pet Pete. Instead he looks excited. "Wow, you're soft." Pete purrs in agreement. "Can I touch your wings, too?"

Pete sits back on his haunches obligingly and spreads his wings to their full span. Brendon strokes at the nearest one with a finger, feeling the leathery membrane before tracing along one of the bones. "Light," he says. "Guess you're not up for passengers?"

"Definitely not." Patrick says. "We can carry stuff in flight as long as we can drop it before we land, but our bones are hollow, so..."

"Yeah, conservation of mass." Brendon agrees. "I guess that's how you can go from five foot two to ... that."

Pete shifts back instantly. "Hey! I am totally five-seven."

"Sure you are, Pete." Patrick placates, handing Pete his jeans and underwear. "Get dressed so we can eat."

"What did you say you're called?" Brendon asks, turning to Spencer again.

"Chiropteri."

"And if I said Pete looked like a dragon?"

"You say it very quietly among certain people." Spencer advises with a grin.

"Not me!" Patrick says cheerfully.

"Special dispensation," Pete tells him, pecking him on the cheek.

"Patrick found out even later than I did," Spencer explains. "Pete told him."

"Of *course* he did." Brendon nods sagely. He is well familiar with the Ways of Pete Wentz. He looks from Pete and Patrick over to Maggie. Maggie has been the subject of Decaydance rumours since Pete and Patrick found her. Officially, she's Patrick's girlfriend, but Pete and Patrick were sharing a tour bus when Maggie moved in. They've never bothered to stifle the rumours that they're a threesome because, well, it's true, but it's not the kind of thing that anyone can really announce publicly to human society.

"I think he wants the advanced course now," Patrick says.

"Can you ask the question without being totally offensive, or should I just start talking again?"

"I have all the manners and class in the *world*, man." Brendon draws himself up. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Ask already, Urie," Maggie chimes in.

"So, threesome?"

"Triad," she corrects. "But yes."

"Is that, um, *normal* for your species?"

"They're not common, no." Patrick fields the question. Spencer isn't exactly an expert in this situation. "But they are accepted. There are three... personality types, I guess, among dragons. There are Protectors, Supportives and Nurturers." He gestures to himself, Pete and Maggie in turn. "Protectors and Supportives are the most common. Usually a Protector and a Supportive will pair up and mate for life. But sometimes things don't go smoothly for whatever reason. Maybe it's a same-sex couple that wants kids, maybe one of the pair has some sort of chronic illness, or maybe, like me and Pete, there's a big age gap. Then a pair will sometimes look for a Nurturer to kind of bridge the gap. Nurturers can be temporary partners, or like Maggie, can join the pair to form a permanent triad."

"Neat." Spencer rolls his eyes, the response is so very *Brendon*. "Spence? Why now?"

"Cards on the table, right?" Spencer shrugs. "We're starting over. You've got a lot invested in this, I didn't want to spring it on you in a couple of years and maybe end up without a band again."

"You're a moron," Brendon says fondly. "Like I wasn't going to think this was awesome."

Spencer doesn't bring up again how he'd been essentially lying by omission to Brendon from the moment they'd met. "Ryan's not so keen anymore."

"Ryan's paranoid," Pete says, sounding for all the world like someone who had never told Ryan a single horror story about Courtship.

"What's he think, you're going to eat him?" Brendon snorts.

"No." Spencer's awkward and uncomfortable all over again. "The pairing up and mating for life thing? It's only optional for Nurturers, and I'm not one. Everybody's got a limited time after they first Shift before their body turns against them without a partner. Ryan watched Pete have a rough time with it, waiting for Patrick to be old enough. He wanted me to start looking early, something about fitting it into the recording cycle so I didn't shift onstage."

"Bullshit." Patrick says.

"Okay, so that's what he *said*," Spencer admits. "That was our big blow-up at the end of Rock Band. He's mostly afraid that I'll end up looking too long, like Pete, so he wants me to get a head start. Three years is kind of ridiculous, though."

Brendon ponders this for a minute. He often has to do this when Ryan's name comes up and he doesn't want Spencer to hit him. "Is there anything that might affect the band?"

"Once I'm old enough to start shifting, we'll have to avoid appearances three days a month, on the new moon, so I don't get caught shifting in public. That'll only last until I find a partner – then I'll be able to shift whenever, like Pete there. Plus I'll have to schedule travel around the new moons to go meet up with other chiroptera groups and look for my partner. That's about it."

"Cool."

"If there are no more questions, I have food here." Maggie announces.

"You heard the lady, let's eat!"

  
**   
_#####_   
**   


And that's pretty much it, for Brendon. He thinks the picture of Spencer's ancestors is "neat", and gets both Patrick and Maggie to shift before he leaves, probably at least partly so he can get a look at Maggie's assets. But other than calling Spencer "dragon-boy" every so often, he doesn't seem too worried about the whole thing.

This is good because suddenly they have to present themselves as a united front to the label, to the internet, and quickly after that, the media. Spencer and Ryan had arranged that Ryan and Jon would make the first announcement - "we are leaving" somehow sounds better than "they are leaving" as a general statement.

It's a little bit like the old days where Spencer was Panic's "people" – except way more immediate. Twitter makes things easy in some ways – a few pictures and Brendon's cover of "Three Little Birds" go over fairly well and help to counter some of the confusion caused by Pete's attempts to help. Zack's support is as welcome as it is unexpected – Zack was never a huge fan of Panic musically.

There are a zillion things to be done and very very little time in which to do them. What was almost a casual, laid-back arrangement between friends becomes a tightly knit unit. They do everything together, from interviews to tour decisions. Something comes up at least once a day that makes Spencer miss doing this kind of thing with Ryan or Jon, but he knows Brendon feels it too and they can turn it into a "remember when" kind of game when things get to be too much. It makes Spencer very glad he never got a house in LA. Having one base of operations makes everything better.

That said, after they've actually sat down and gone through the process of finding people to replace Ryan and Jon for the tour, Brendon looks at Spencer and says "I think I need at least a day off. You?"

And yeah, Spencer needs some time to mentally prepare himself for the idea that he's about to start looking up from his kit to see someone who isn't Ryan playing in front of him. Without telling anyone else, he heads down to Vegas to see his house.

He dusts and cleans the first floor, letting the chores occupy his hands while his brain mulls over the pros and cons of what's coming up. When all the work is done he makes himself some pasta as much to get the house to smell lived-in as to stave off hunger. Finally, he lets himself do what he came here for. He takes off his shoes and socks and descends to the basement, barefoot.

He's seen mock-ups and pictures before, felt samples, approved colours, but it's not the same as actually stepping into the room. He wiggles his toes in the thick carpeting and stands in the doorway, taking it all in. Instead of potlights, his decorator had elected to go with a mid-sized hanging light with a shade that echoes the colours in the tapestries and furnishings. Each wall also holds two small sconces that look like lanterns, bracketing the tapestries. Everything is controlled by one dimmer switch by the door, but the sconces can also be turned off individually. He leaves the lights at half-power and walks the perimeter of the room, trailing his fingers over the heavy fabrics that cover the walls. Some of it is just thick drapery, in burnt oranges, dark reds, warm yellows. The tapestries are mostly Persian – Spencer likes the geometrics of Islamic art.

He spends at least a full minute inspecting the one piece that was specially commissioned. It's a small hooked rug depicting the McLaughlin crest. Spencer found the artist through Rosa Velasquez. Having it in the room satisfies something primal in him. It announces that this space is *his*. His little space away from the world. Spencer doesn't bother with the bedrooms, he spends the night curled up on one of the futons, safe and dreamless.

  
**   
_#####_   
**   


They're less than forty-eight hours away from their first stop on the Blink tour and it still feels unreal. Rehearsal has been over for hours and Dallon and Ian both went home for the night long ago, but Brendon and Spencer are too keyed up to go to sleep just yet. Plus, if they left the living room they might have to go upstairs and face the horrors of packing. Better to just face the sunrise. Spencer's dicking around on his laptop, following a series of increasingly ludicrous youtube links when he sees Brendon's posture stiffen out of the corner of his eye.

"What's up?" He calls over cautiously. He'll wait for Brendon to talk before he lets himself listen to the litany of twenty zillion things that can go wrong right before a tour. He will.

"I'm not one hundred percent sure, but I think that fucker got himself hitched."

That fucker is only one person in Brendon-speak these days. Spencer usually punches him for it but this time he's too stuck on the last part of the sentence.

"Hitched?" Spencer has to close his eyes against a wave of dizziness. "You mean, like, engaged?" He asks, trying his best to convince himself that Ryan might do things by half-measures.

"No, I mean like quickie Vegas wedding. Possibly complete with Tigger." Brendon sounds tense, although Spencer can't quite figure out why. It's not like anything Ryan does reflects on Brendon anymore. Maybe it's just habit.

His brainvoice is babbling now. That's never a good sign. "What... where are you getting this?"

"It's on his twitter. With pictures."

Spencer can't possibly look. He attempts his best "What has Ryan done *now*?" tone. "Who's the lucky lady?" He's not sure he sounds convincing.

"Z Berg." Brendon reports.

Z. Ryan's "friend with benefits". Not Keltie, the woman who made Ryan more happy than Spencer had ever seen. Just another of the same kind of girl Ryan always used to hang around. Catty enough to get Ryan's sense of humour, oddball enough to appreciate his sense of style, and artsy enough to get his literary references. Usually he's more friends with that kind of girl than anything else. That he *married* her...

Spencer catches himself. Ryan is allowed to marry anyone he likes. Ryan is allowed to associate with whomever he wants. Ryan is his own person. Spencer has *got to let go*. It's an old mantra, left over from before the band. Spencer's never been very good at using it, mostly because Ryan's only started to encourage the "letting go" part in the last ten months. Spencer tries to take a deep breath and chokes on bile. Ignoring Brendon's worried question, he dashes to the bathroom.

It's probably not the stupidest thing he's ever done, throwing up at the thought that his best friend is married, but it's far and away the most selfish. Proof that, even if he doesn't express it outside of his own head, Spencer is the most self-centered person he knows. If Z makes Ryan happy, Spencer should be happy for him. Even if getting married at ass o'clock in the morning in Vegas isn't the classiest thing to do, it's still very Ryan.

Brendon's knocking at the door. "Are you okay, dude?"

Spencer opens the door. "It wasn't locked. I'm fine."

"You sure? Just because you've been surfing a lot doesn't mean I can't tell when you're that special sick kind of pale."

"Shock, maybe?" He offers with a half-shrug. "I'll get some water and call it a morning."

"You should eat something." Brendon follows him into the kitchen. "Isn't sugar good for shock?"

"Brendon, I just ralphed. I'm not eating anything." But Brendon does like to hover when his friends are sick.

"Look, if I still feel shitty in the morning you can make me some herbal tea or something and put in as much sugar as you want, okay?"

"You're *sure* you're okay? Because I can totally call Ross up and bitch him out for you."

"*Brendon*"

Brendon puts his hands up and backs away. "Just saying."

When Spencer wakes up in the morning, he feels kind of hungover. It takes him a minute to remember that no, he hadn't gotten drunk the night before, but that yes, really stupid things had happened.

He makes his way down to the kitchen, intent on coffee if not exactly ready for solid food. Brendon's there already, sitting on a stool at the island, eating toast and reading something on his laptop.

"You're going to get crumbs on the keyboard and it'll short out and die on you while we're on the road, fifty miles from the nearest Apple store," Spencer warns him for the hundredth time. Brendon waves toast at him in what's probably supposed to be a rude gesture, and indicates that there is coffee.

For a moment, it's comfortably familiar. The surreality of last night could almost have been a dream. But when Spencer achieves coffee and parks a stool next to Brendon's, the mood is broken. He has to know.

"Are there pictures?"

"I don't think you want to see."

"Is there nudity?"

"No. But there are rings." The look of complete sympathy on Brendon's face hurts. It's a little embarrassing that even thinking this is just a case of Spencer discovering just how low his best friend has sunk, Brendon's inclined to act as if Spencer's made of glass.

"It can't be any worse in real life than what I can come up with in my head." Spencer insists. He steels himself and steals Brendon's laptop. The sequence is subtle, for Ryan. The first picture of Z reflected in the champagne is entirely the sort of thing Spencer would expect on a wedding invitation from Ryan. Which apparently he doesn't rate. The karaoke is also completely unsurprising, as is the picture with Tigger.

But then there are the rings. Ryan even posted the picture twice. Z is in a classic newly-married pose, displaying her ring with a cutesy coy expression. Spencer is suddenly glad he hasn't had breakfast. He puts his head down against the cool stone of the counter and doesn't object when Brendon pulls the laptop away.

"Who is that and what has he done with Ryan?" Spencer asks the table. Denial is always a safe option.

"He is a person that you need to put out of your mind and ignore until sometime after we get through today's rehearsal." Brendon says in a firm voice.

"How likely is it that Ian and Dallon won't have heard?"

"You've met Ian, right?" Brendon laughs. "Even if he's heard he'll forget the second he starts tuning his guitar, if he hasn't forgotten already. Dallon probably won't have heard, and if he has I'll make sure he keeps his mouth shut. Now drink your coffee, I need another member of this band who remembers more than half of any given song, so I need you functional."

"Slave-driver." Spencer manages to sit up and drink his coffee. It takes him three cups to feel marginally human, but then Brendon guides him over to his kit. The world always makes some kind of sense from behind his kit.

  
**   
_#####_   
**   


The Blink tour could easily have gone down in history as Spencer's favourite tour. At least top five. He's on tour with four guys he likes, playing music he loves. He gets to open for two bands that he's looked up to for what seems like *forever*, and not only does he get to hang around backstage and ogle their setups like the drooling fanboy he is, he gets to talk shop with them. He and Brendon get to play some of their stuff for Mark fucking Hoppus and he actually says he'd like to work with them. The fans are really supportive and most of them are chill - the meet and greets actually work out really well even though the fans aren't being controlled to the max. Also, it's kind of nice to only get high once in a while instead of after almost every show.

The thing is, Spencer's tired. The weird sort of lethargy that settled in on Ryan's not-wedding day (which Brendon is calling "The Day That Must Not Be Named" in some sort of weird Harry Potter tribute that Pete is totally in on) has never quite gone away, even after it was confirmed that the whole thing was Ryan attempting to be funny. He hasn't talked to Ryan since before the whole thing hit and he's not sure he wants to. They've literally never gone this long without speaking to each other. Spencer's been mad, disappointed, embarrassed at and humiliated by Ryan before. Before, the feelings would have faded away after a few hours. Less if Ryan actually attempted an apology. Now, there's a sick certainty in the pit of his stomach that Ryan has crossed some sort of line. It's complicated by the fact that there are times in every show where he looks up expecting Ryan to be standing there with his back to the audience, grinning at him, only to realize he's not there.

He expects things to get better with time, but everything only seems to get worse, until he's not sure if he's missing Ryan so much that it's a physical ache or if he's just so tired his bones hurt. He gets up later every day and throws himself into his bunk as soon as humanly possible after each show. Sometimes just looking at Brendon buzzing around, hyper with new ideas makes him want to crawl back into bed. When he misses Travis' flying drumkit of awesome three days in a row, Brendon starts to make worried faces at him. Spencer liberates some of Brendon's Red Bull. That seems to work for a couple of days, but when he wakes up in the last week of their time on the tour to find Patrick and Maggie sitting in the bus lounge, he remembers that Brendon's a lot more perceptive than he appears to be.

"Let's just assume that you already know that Brendon's worried about you." Patrick says, after allowing Spencer enough time to have his first coffee of the day. "Let's also assume that it would be counterproductive for you to lie to me. Is this just "on tour without my best friend"-related depression or should Maggie check you over?"

"I didn't know Maggie had medical training," Spencer says. The unimpressed look Patrick gives him is almost epic. Spencer's too tired to stall properly. Maybe Brendon should be worried.

"I don't have much beyond basic first aid for humans and chiropteri," Maggie says, calm and professional. "But I'm good at sensing energy flows. I can tell you if it's something temporary and external or if things are getting really messed up and you need help."

"I think some of it's probably Ryan-related," Spencer admits, feeling like he's confessing to some guilty secret. "Not all of it though. This has been a really fun tour. I've spent whole days without thinking of Ryan, but I still can't make it through the day without naps and caffeine."

"Depression's a pretty powerful thing," Maggie says evenly. "I can check you out. I'm not qualified to actually solve any snags but I can at least diagnose."

"Have you thought about how *eating* is a thing that might give you energy?" Patrick asks, in a sarcastic tone Spencer can only aspire to.

"What do you mean?" He asks, honestly confused. "I've been eating. I'm over at catering plenty of times during the day."

"You barely fill half a plate!" Patrick tells him. "You're getting closer to trying to survive on bread and water every day. We may be omnivores, but you need protein, Spencer."

"That can't be right." Spencer thinks back, trying to picture the last sausage, the last burger, the last pork chop he ate. But Patrick's right. He's been grazing, picking at what catering offers, filling up on bread. "I guess I haven't been very hungry," he admits.

"Why don't you start with a decent breakfast," Maggie suggests. She stands up, expecting them to follow. "Catering's still open. If you can manage three full meals today and feel better, we'll just get Brendon or Zack to nag you to eat. Otherwise, we can sit down sometime tomorrow and I'll do a reading."

Somewhat reluctantly, Spencer agrees. He's not usually the member of his band to require a babysitter. It's this realization that he hasn't even noticed he hasn't been eating that makes him give in.

About half an hour after a fairly healthy breakfast including most of the food groups, and more bacon than Spencer's seen since he moved out of his mom's house, at least half of it comes back up again. There's no one around to witness Spencer's trip to the bathroom, and that actually becomes a problem when his lethargy attacks with a vengeance almost before he's rinsed his mouth out.

When he's made the trek from the backstage bathroom to his bus all that keeps Spencer from curling up on the nearest horizontal surface is the knowledge that he might not wake up on Brendon's first try and Brendon really doesn't need to be freaked out by finding Spencer unconscious and unresponsive at the front of the bus.

He wakes up in time for soundcheck only because there's an alarm programmed in to his phone. Definitely Something Is Wrong. After a little bit of searching in his notes from the Search gathering in December, Spencer sends a text to the nurse he'd met, Miguel, and hopes for a reply before the show.

In some ways, Brendon makes Spencer's decision for him. Spencer is sitting backstage after their set, weighing the pros and cons of Miguel's recommendation, when Brendon sits down beside him.

"Hi," Brendon says in his "you're not going to like this but I'm saying this anyway" voice. "So I was thinking of asking Shane to dog-sit for a few more days after tour."

"Yeah?"

"Since our last show's in Michigan, Sarah's coming by to hang out, and she's invited us to stay with her for a few days before we go home."

Spencer takes a second to mentally parse this statement. "You mean you want to visit Sarah for a few days before you head back and you're worried I can't hack it on my own for a couple of days," he says, eyebrow raised.

Brendon looks equal parts sheepish and resigned. "Yeah, pretty much. I'm *worried*, Spencer. If I thought you'd agree, I'd get the Unholy Trinity to take you home with them, but I'm learning Patrick's got a hair trigger when it comes to worrying about sick chiropteri and you'll do anything to get out of being nagged to death."

It's good to know that Brendon does know him that well, even though he has to use actual words to get his point across instead of a couple of facial expressions. Although the sad puppy eyes he's giving Spencer at the moment are effective weapons in and of themselves. Spencer pats his knee.

"It's okay dude. There's a place in Arizona I can go for a while, get some rest, do a detox, get them to work out what foods I can actually eat. I was thinking about going anyway. If you're that worried about leaving me alone I'll leave from Detroit and you and Sarah can spend a couple of days together without worrying about a third wheel."

"You know "a place in Arizona" sounds like a euphemism for a rehab centre." Brendon teases, visibly  
relieved.

"It's a health centre for chiropteri," Spencer's fudging a little, but it's more or less the truth. "There are only a couple in North America."

"I thought your GP was a chiroptera?"

"Yeah, but this way I don't have to be at the house alone, right?" It's a reasonable explanation. Spencer just hopes Brendon buys it. A worried Brendon is never a good thing.

Once things are settled with Brendon, Spencer calls the Transformations clinic to confirm the space Miguel has them holding for him and the travel agent to change his flight home to one to Arizona. He also waves off Maggie's offer of a diagnosis – he needs to get through the last couple of days of tour and knowing that whatever's happening is enough to worry a medical professional on the basis of one text is distracting enough.

  
**   
_#####_   
**   


One flight turns into two, and by the time he stumbles off the prop plane that lands him in Flagstaff, Spencer is ready to fall over and not get up again. The clinic has their own little shuttle bus, something that is both a convenience for their patients and lends itself to the popular local idea that Transformations is some sort of rehab centre/spa for the very wealthy. He's the only passenger today. The driver presents him with a wheelchair when they arrive. Spencer's about to argue when she tells him she's been trying to wake him for fifteen minutes.

He's not quite so tired that he doesn't appreciate that Transformations in no way resembles any hospital he's ever been in. Nothing is white or sterile looking, but nothing looks oppressively opulent either. It just feels comfortable. He's signed in and assigned a room. He keeps his eyes open long enough to be introduced to Dr. Eileen Kaplan, a motherly woman who is probably a good deal older than the forty or so that she looks. He gives his consent for tests, but barely stays awake long enough to feel the first prick of blood being drawn.

When he wakes up again, the sun is setting. He goes to rub the sleep out of his eyes and realizes that he's got an IV in one arm. He presses the call button above his bed, and a nurse comes to run a few more tests, checking his pupils, his lungs and his reflexes before bringing him something to eat. She points out the footlocker where his stuff is stored and assures him that the doctor will speak to him in the morning.

  
**   
_#####_   
**   


For a few moments before Dr. Kaplan opens her mouth, Spencer manages to cling to the hope that this is something minor, or at least normal, something lots of young chiropteri get. Maybe it's dragonpox -- and wouldn't it just be Spencer's luck if that ended up the part of Harry Potter that's real.

"You're a little young for me to be asking this question," the doctor begins, "but have you been on Search recently?" The stone sitting in Spencer's stomach turns into a knife. Not dragonpox after all.

"A little," he tells her truthfully, keeping his tone light. "But there wasn't anyone I was interested in."

"Was there anyone..." she says slowly, clearly trying to be delicate, "who wasn't interested in you?"

For a moment the room swims. This is not happening. This can't be happening. Medical professionals are not supposed to agree with the little voice in the back of Spencer's head. Ryan's not even a *chiroptera* for fuck's sake.

He's about to deny it (still truthfully, because it's not like it happened on Search), when he can see she caught his reaction. Her expression has softened and she's leaning forward, attempting to comfort.

"We're not allowed to interfere in a Courtship," she tells him, as if he didn't _know_ that after the whole Pete'n'Patrick fiasco. "But if there's someone you want to call, we can coordinate with the chaperones and get a number for you."

"You really think it's rejection sickness?" he demands, searching for any other possibility. "I'm a little young for that, right? I mean, I'm years from Shift."

"It's not common, true. But it does happen, especially if the rejection was exceedingly violent or emotionally damaging." She frowns. "I know it's particularly hard for young Protectors, being rejected, but this is not a time for false pride, Spencer. Rejection sickness is usually fatal, and your chosen Supportive will not survive shifting for very long without you."

"Usually?" He's grasping at straws, and her look tells him she knows it.

"In about two percent of cases, a chiroptera suffering rejection sickness is unnaturally focused on someone who is *not* his Chosen. There is treatment in such cases, but it's a long process and not guaranteed to work unless the true Chosen or an exceptionally well-matched Nurturer is found for support."

Spencer collapses against his pillows in relief. Finally, something that makes sense!

"I have this human friend," he explains. "I've known him most of my life. We were in a band together, so we spent a lot of time living together, sharing really small spaces and stuff. He pretended he eloped with a girl. That's when all this started."

She makes a note on her clipboard, looking relieved and businesslike all at once. "I would definitely suggest he come in for testing."

"No!" He straightens up a little and glares at her. "He's known about me since I was twelve. I'd know if he was chiropteric."

"It's very rare for any chiroptera, much less someone pre-Shift, to be able to distinguish humans from unshifted chiropteri. DNA tests are usually necessary. Your friend may not even know of his heritage."

"Look, his ex-girlfriend? Made him happier than I have ever seen in my life. I have never made him one-tenth as happy. You'll upset him, drag him all the way down here for tests, and then he'll end up feeling all guilty when the test comes out negative because he's a moron that way." He crosses his arms and tries out his best glare. "There won't be any testing."

The doctor is unimpressed by his glare. "I cannot interfere in a Courtship, but..."

"That's right." And for the first time since he heard about all the shit Pete and Patrick went through before they found Maggie, Spencer is glad. "You can't. Especially since there _isn't_ one. So lay your treatment on me."

The treatment, Spencer discovers, is holistic. He is put on a diet of high-calorie, easily digestible foods, including lots of liquids. He meets with a psychologist once a day to talk about pretty much everything, especially what interests him in a partner. He spends an hour every evening in guided meditation, attempting to "visualize and seek out the spirit of your Chosen". And each morning, while he sits outside, soaking up the heat in the rock gardens, he has visitors.

It starts as a parade of Nurturers, a couple of whom work at the hospice. Apparently medicine is a common field for Nurturers, especially those who haven't yet found (or don't particularly want) a triad. Then come the Supportives. There are a few unpaired in various states of health at the hospice. Some of them are so eager they make Spencer defensive and snappish. Others take one look at him, shake their heads and sit down for a chat about what Spencer is looking for and where he has looked so far. Many of those go away with assurances that they'll contact family members, find those who can travel soon.

"Soon" is a favourite word of everyone who works with Spencer. "Soon" he'll find an excellent partner. "Soon" he'll gain some weight back. "Soon" he'll learn to focus properly during meditation and not get distracted by the drum rhythms his teacher uses. "Soon" he'll stop needing to nap after lunch. "Soon" he'll stop throwing up two and three times a day.

One thing they never say is "soon" he'll stop fixating on Ryan. No one ever mentions what he told Dr. Kaplan at the beginning. Spencer doesn't know if it's some sort of odd politeness to go along with what he's sure not all of his caretakers believe or if they think that mention of his "Chosen" will make Spencer worse.

Spencer has been at the hospice for a week when he realizes it's Ryan's birthday. It's been almost a month since the "marriage" to Z, a month of radio silence. Despite the fact that he's spent most of the past week trying to focus on anything other than Ryan Ross, Spencer hasn't ever let Ryan's birthday go by without acknowledgment. It would be mean and horrible, and whether or not Ryan has even noticed that they haven't communicated in weeks, if Spencer doesn't do something, Ryan will feel snubbed. Spencer promised he wouldn't let their friendship die, and it's time to deliver.

He's yawning before his laptop even connects to the hospice wifi. He opens his email and starts typing, hoping he doesn't do anything dumb like fall asleep with his face on the keyboard.

> Hey doofus!
> 
> You're 23 years old! How does it feel to be so ancient?? Are you partying hard in LA or has Jon got something cooked up for you in Chicago?
> 
> Enjoying some downtime after the tour. I've got stories to tell, if you want to hear.
> 
> Hit me back,  
> Spence

It covers all the important parts, and there isn't a single lie, which is even better. Spencer hits send, then settles himself down for yet another nap with a clear conscience.

Ryan emails back with pictures from his birthday party. There are a couple of him with Z, which sets Spencer back about half a day, but the tone is light and happy. The Young Veins are almost done recording. Ryan suggests he could send a CD, as long as Spencer promises to listen to it by himself first.

Spencer's fading fast when he shoots off a reply, his only excuse for writing:

> Not at home right now, sorry. Upload it to a server for me?

  
**   
_#####_   
**   


Ryan finds himself coming back to Spencer's last email several times over the day. There's something off about it, but he can't figure out what. Eventually, he shows it to Jon and Alex.

"So he's not at home." Jon says with a shrug. "If you want to send him the stuff we can upload it to yousendit or something."

"You don't think he sounds... weird?" Ryan presses, fidgeting a little.

"The guy's in your ex-band." Alex opines. "Of course he's going to sound a little weird if he's talking about your new music. Maybe he doesn't really want to hear it."

The thing is, if it was anybody but Spencer, that's what Ryan would get out of it. But it's Spencer. Spencer has absolutely never not wanted to read or hear or see whatever Ryan's up to. One of the worst things about the last months with Panic was that knowledge that Ryan had songs *ready* and Spencer kept giving him the sideways glances that meant "Are you ready to share yet?" and Ryan just *couldn't*.

Finally, he goes with his default when unable to figure Spencer out – he calls Spencer.

Spencer's phone is off.

It's off when he tries an hour later.

And the next morning, when he gets up early just to call again.

There are several totally rational reasons Spencer's phone would be off. Ryan can't think of any. He starts calling around, and tries to remember to breathe.

  
**   
_#####_   
**   


"Where is he?" Ryan growls.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Brendon says airily. "I don't know *who* you're talking about." Ryan distinctly hears him take a long and obnoxious slurp of coffee. "In fact, who is this?"

Ryan has been calling people for two hours and he is on his last nerve. "There is something wrong with Spencer. I don't know where he is or what he's doing, but Pete, Patrick and Shane all think you might. Spill, or I will come over to your house and beat it out of you."

"Maybe Spencer doesn't want to talk to you, Mystery Man."

Ryan has a strong urge to throw his phone, but he hangs on to it. "Stop wasting my time, Urie."

"Spencer's *fine*, you neurotic douchebag. He got some kind of bug while we were on tour, and ran himself down the way he usually does, stubborn bastard. I got Maggie to convince him to get himself checked out."

"You're telling me, what, he's at some clinic?" Something's definitely Not Right here.

"It's like, a long-term care and spa place or something. For um, chiropteri. It's in Arizona. He told me humans weren't allowed to visit."

"You *know* about that?" Ryan feels like he's been kicked in the stomach. That was *their* secret. His and Spencer's.

"He told me when we started making plans for the band. Said you were freaking out about it and wanted me to know before I committed to anything."

It takes a minute, but Ryan wrenches his brain back on track. That Brendon is being matter-of-fact and not rubbing it in means he's maybe getting somewhere. "Do you have an address?"

"You know you're freaking out about nothing, right? It's like a flu bug, or something." But Brendon doesn't sound as sure of himself as he was.

"You think *Spencer* would go on a trip out of state for a *flu bug*, Urie? If you've broken him, I will have your balls." Ryan snarls. "Give me the address."

  
**   
_#####_   
**   


Neither Jon nor Alex is particularly impressed with Ryan's declaration that he's going to Arizona indefinitely to visit Spencer, but Ryan doesn't care. He's wasted enough time trying to explain to Brendon, who at least saw for himself that Spencer wasn't one hundred percent. It is not "some flu bug" and no, Ryan is not going to wait the two days of recording time they have left. He's practically vibrating with the need to see Spencer right the fuck now.

It takes way too much time to get to Arizona, and even longer to find someone who will take Ryan to the hospice, no matter what he's offering for payment. And then when he finally makes it into the small lobby, no one will confirm anything. They do concede that they'll take a message for Spencer, but that's all.

Ryan's tired, and dusty and he *hates* anything resembling a hospital. With all of his alarm bells telling him that Spencer is Not All Right it's all he can do to curl himself up in one of the arm chairs and wait. Once upon a time he was good at waiting.

The sun is going down, and Ryan's starting to think they'll make him wait all night, or worse, send him away, when a diminutive woman with a stethoscope around her neck approaches him.

"Mr. Ross? I'm Eileen Kaplan, Spencer's doctor. I can let you see him for a few minutes, but I'm going to have to insist you leave after that. He needs his rest."

Ryan swallows hard, even as he can finally feel himself shifting from adrenaline fueled-panic to the stoic coping mechanisms he used to use with his father. For Spencer, he can do this again.

"What's wrong with him?" he asks, grabbing his bag and following her down the hall.

"I'm sorry, that's something you'll have to ask Spencer."

Spencer's room is not the white sterile room Ryan expects. It's small, but decorated in a bright and homey fashion. There are hospital corners on the bed, but the sheets are a cheerful blue. Instead of hard plastic chairs at his bedside there are a couple of well-stuffed armchairs. In the warm light of his bedside lamp Spencer looks tired, but almost normal, sitting propped up against his pillows and doing something on his laptop. The thing that makes Ryan stop dead is the IV attached to Spencer's arm.

"Spencer?" And... wasn't he supposed to be being strong, for Spencer? His voice didn't get the memo.

The laptop tumbles backwards as Spencer startles. "Fuck. Ryan! What are you...?"

"Your email was weird... Spencer, what's wrong?" Ryan can't make himself move.

"I'm... fuck. I'm fine, Ryan. I'm just... run down. Dehydrated. It's only saline, I swear." Spencer looks almost hunted.

Ryan can't say anything because Spencer, *Spencer* is lying to his face. If he was *fine* he wouldn't be here.

"Hey," Spencer seems to pull himself together in the face of Ryan's distress. "Hey, come here." He reaches out a hand and Ryan goes to him automatically. Spencer's hand is warm, too warm. And close up, Ryan can see what he thought were shadows cast by the lamp are hollows in Spencer's cheeks and bags under his eyes. "I'll be okay. I promise. What are you doing all the way out here? Aren't you still recording?"

"You're sick." Is all Ryan can say. It's all he can think, too. "Spencer, what's *wrong*?"

"It's just a thing. Quirk of my biology." Spencer tries one of his wry smiles. Ryan's not impressed. "I guess I overdid it a little on tour or something. They'll fix me up fine. It's just taking a little while."

"You sent me a birthday email, but you couldn't tell me you weren't feeling well?"

"I didn't want you to worry."

"Yeah, great job, genius." Ryan can't help the dark, biting sarcasm that spills out.

"And see? Now you know and you what, cancelled recording and hopped a plane out of state just to check up on me? You didn't need to do that."

"You shouldn't be in a place like this by yourself." That was a frequent refrain of Spencer's when Ryan used to visit his dad. Can't he see it works both ways?

Spencer looks like he's going to argue more, but whatever he's going to say is lost in a yawn. Ryan puts his foot down.

"I'll let you sleep tonight, but I'm coming back tomorrow. Will you tell them to let me in, or do I have to camp out in the lobby again?"

Spencer grimaces, but nods. "I'll tell Kaplan."

"Get some rest." Ryan squeezes Spencer's hand one more time and lets himself out of the room. One of the nursing staff calls him the shuttle bus to the nearby hotel used by visiting family members. The room is a carbon copy of so many that he's stayed in over the years, the king size bed seeming more vast than usual when all he can see in his mind's eye is Spencer in his hospital bed.

The next day, Ryan makes himself wait until nine before making his way back. The people at the nurses' station in the lobby all stop and stare when he comes in. He signs the visitor book and heads to Spencer's room in silence. No one answers his soft knock, so he eases the door open. Spencer is still sleeping. It's not reassuring.

Ryan looks around for a chart or any kind of notations, but all he can find is some kind of activity schedule. The are no pill bottles in the room or in the adjacent washroom, but that doesn't necessarily mean anything – the nurses can give doses to Spencer directly.

Of all the nightmare scenarios Ryan dreamed up, this uneasy not-knowing is the worst. Spencer is lying to him, he knows that much. Why, he's not sure. He doesn't know what to do about it, except hang on and try to out-stubborn his best friend. Spencer looks small and lonely, too still in his bed. Ryan doesn't think about it, just lies down next to him.

It's stupid, Ryan knows. Spencer's clearly very sick and in no shape to be protective at all. Still, lying here, curled up on top of the sheets of Spencer's bed, feeling the fever-warmth of his body and hearing him breathe... somehow it still makes Ryan feel safe. As long as he doesn't think about how maybe... someday _far_ in the future, he might have to give all this up.

Spencer groans in his sleep, stretches a little, the one hand not trapped under the bedsheets searching for something. Ryan grasps it, holds it close with both of his own. "It's okay, Spence. I'm here. Sleep a little longer, okay?"

When Spencer finally does wake up, the day goes nothing like Ryan had expected. After Spencer has picked at his breakfast for a while and had a full glass of something vile-looking, a young orderly brings in a wheelchair.

"You shouldn't have come this early," Spencer says apologetically. "I'm meeting with other patients. You can't come – privacy regulations."

The orderly directs Ryan back to the cafeteria where he has his own breakfast. He spends the morning working on the crossword from a discarded newspaper, and trying not to worry too much. At twelve-thirty he's back in Spencer's room for lunch. Spencer is frustrated and snappish, and when he excuses himself to go to the bathroom in the middle of the meal, it sounds suspiciously as if he's throwing up. He's also clearly exhausted again.

When a new person comes in, a Dr. Lu, if Ryan remembers the schedule right, he takes one look at Spencer and says "Shall we put this off for a few hours?"

Spencer looks between Ryan and the doctor a couple of times before he sighs and nods. "I could do with a nap."

Ryan doesn't even pretend he's going to leave. He settles down in one of the armchairs with his newspaper pages and moves on to the sudoku. Spencer's asleep in less than five minutes. Ryan watches him for a while, wishing sleep would magically soothe away the drawn look on Spencer's face. He wishes Spencer would let him in, let him help.

"I did everything I was supposed to, Spence." He whispers. It's hard to talk around the lump in his throat. "I gave you some space, I listened to you talk about Search, I didn't...."

He closes his eyes, but the tears have already started. "I wasn't pushy, I wasn't needy, I did everything so I wouldn't lose all of you. And now I'm scared I'm going to lose you anyway and I don't even know why. You're breaking the rules, Smith!"

"You're not allowed to... You're not allowed to not get better. Maybe I grew up some, maybe you're not my whole world anymore, but my world doesn't work if you're not in it. You can't leave me here without you."

He has to duck in to the washroom for a few minutes to compose himself. There's a definite smell of vomit in the small room, and that doesn't help any.

Ryan manages until Spencer falls asleep for the third time that day (possibly fourth, Ryan suspects he probably napped in the morning too) before he decides he's had enough. No one will tell him anything. It might be because he's human, it might be because Spencer is protecting him somehow. He doesn't care. All he can see is that his best friend is getting sicker and weaker, sleeping ridiculously long hours, and apart from some time with someone who might by a psychologist and an hour or two of *meditation*, no one's doing anything. There are no medicines, no scans, no machines.

Ryan needs to know. Deep down he knows that the facts won't make him feel any less helpless, but right now it's something to do and he badly needs to do something.

Banished to his hotel room yet again, he opens his Sidekick and calls Pete.

"Ryan Ross!" Pete answers on the second ring, sounding far too chipper for Ryan's taste. "What can I do for my favourite fanboy today?"

"I'm in Arizona." Ryan says, the words sharp and bitter in his mouth. *Pete* knew Spencer was sick, too and didn't tell him. "Spencer's worse."

Pete deflates immediately. "Fuck. Fuck, Ross, I'm sorry. What is it?"

"I don't know. I just... it's really bad, Pete. I think..." No, he's not ready to say those words yet. He summons up his anger and frustration as a shield. "No one will tell me anything. Not even Spencer. I need to know. I need help."

Those words have never come off his tongue so easily before, but it's for Spencer and Ryan's not going to let his own hangups get in the way of that.

"Let me get Patrick," is all Pete says. There's a scrabbling sound on the other end of the phone and then definite movement - Pete is running. It makes Ryan feel a little lighter. Someone is taking him seriously.

He hears Pete give Patrick a short explanation, and then it's Patrick's even, calming voice on the phone. "Ryan? What exactly do you know?"

Ryan takes a breath and then lets it all spill out. "I'm in Arizona, at Transformations. I don't know how bad he was on tour, but I'm pretty sure he's worse. He's really tired all the time and I don't think he's eating much. Or maybe they're feeding him and he's not keeping it down. All they do for him is have him meditate, and no one is telling me anything."

Patrick sighs. "There are probably rules about what they can and can't tell non-family humans. It'll take us eight to ten hours to get down there. Go, get something to eat, have a shower, sleep if you can. Meet us at the landing site outside the hospice."

Six hours later, Ryan is perched on a rock just outside the local landing site, eyes on the night sky. He's never seen Patrick or Maggie in chiroptera form, but after the first couple of landings that make his heart race he realizes he'll know them right away - triads are pretty rare, after all.

It's a little over nine hours after Ryan made the call when three dark shapes swoop down to land on the cooling Arizona sand. The sparse landing lights are enough for Ryan to pick out Pete right away - slender and brown, with black mane and wings, a sharp contrast to Patrick's tawny-coloured, solid torso and strong legs. Maggie's about the same size as Pete, marked like a tabby cat.

For a moment Ryan is carried back to his teenage imaginings of chiroptera-Spencer, seeing those piercing blue eyes looking back at him from a body as strong as Patrick's. But Patrick shifts, becoming just Patrick, and Ryan remembers that right now, Spencer is the furthest thing from strong.

When Patrick comes back from consulting with the staff, he's fuming. "When we get back home, remind me to put in the paperwork. I'm founding that goddamn nomadic pride we keep talking about, and adopting the whole fucking crowd of you."

Pete, who's been slouching in the seat on Ryan's right, sits bolt upright. "They didn't tell you anything? They can't do that! You're officially down as his mentor..."

"Oh they told me some of it, eventually." Patrick says grimly. "They wanted *paperwork*, as if I needed some sort of certificate. Something's definitely up. They pulled the "we cannot interfere in a Courtship" card."

Ryan's not sure exactly what's going on, but he's about to strangle Patrick if he doesn't share. "What did they tell you?"

Patrick deflates a little and sits down across from Ryan. "It's rejection sickness."

The bottom drops out of Ryan's stomach. Maggie's hugging him, saying something that sounds vaguely reassuring, but he can't process the words. "But... that's not possible." His voice comes out in a croak. Spencer can't have met someone *already*, can he? Ryan feels a brief flash of hatred for whoever would be stupid enough to reject Spencer. Clearly they don't deserve him.

"I don't get it either, but that's what they told me." Patrick says. "I know they're holding something back, but they're not outright lying. Any ideas, Pete?"

Pete looks pained. "He should be too young. It happens early sometimes, but... he's barely started Search."

"Did they tell you anything about treatment?" Maggie asks Patrick. "Are they looking for his mate?"

"They said he's trying an alternative treatment. Didn't say why."

"He's not talking to me." Ryan says plaintively. "He just says he'll be fine."

Patrick checks his watch. "They won't put me on the approved visitors list without Spencer's say so, and public visiting hours aren't for a while. He's probably still asleep anyway. Is there somewhere we can eat?"

"I'm not hungry." Ryan's been away from Spencer's room for far too long already.

"We just flew seven hundred-odd miles." Patrick says evenly. "We need to eat, and if Spencer's not talking to you, and the staff won't talk to me, we need a plan of attack."

"I..."

Maggie seems to sense what he needs. "Why don't you go check on him, and meet us back here in ten minutes? We can wait."

Ryan's darting off down the hall, only vaguely registering Patrick's nod of approval.

Spencer's still sleeping, as per usual these days. Somehow knowing the diagnosis makes him look even smaller and more frail to Ryan's eyes. Ryan sits in his chair and grabs Spencer's hand. Still warm. Still there.

"Why didn't you tell me?" He asks the silent room. He knows the answer, of course. Spencer likes to protect Ryan from things, as if worrying is Spencer's exclusive domain. He would have justified it as being something Ryan can't do anything about, so why bother him? "I brought Pete and Patrick and Maggie." He tells Spencer. "I know you don't like people seeing you like this, but they can help. I know they can." _They have to._ "I'll be back later." He pats Spencer's hand once before he leaves.

 

When Patrick explains to the staff that he and his mates have flown in from Los Angeles, the portion sizes they're doled out are enormous. Maggie grabs an armful of Gatorade bottles and pays for everything. Pete picks the table. Everything seems to be teamwork with them.

"Okay," Patrick begins between forkfuls of lasagna. "I know Spencer signed up as a Search candidate in November and put the three of us down as mentors. I'm guessing he's been to a gathering?"

"At least two," Ryan remembers. "One before New Year's in... New Mexico, I think? And he went away for the new moon in March but I don't know where."

"How much did he tell you about the one in New Mexico?"

Ryan shrugs, looking at his sandwich. "The basics? He did the blood test – he's a Protector. He met a bunch of people, started a list of candidates."

"Any favourites?"

"No!" His response is automatic, definite and sharp enough that he even makes *himself* jump. Pete and Patrick exchange looks. "What?"

"This is maybe a stretch, but have you ever actually been tested for chiroptera DNA?" Patrick asks.

Ryan doesn't understand the question. He sits staring across the table at Patrick. "No, of course not."

"Wait, what are you two getting at?" Maggie asks. "I know you've played 'what if Ryan was a chiroptera' before..."

_They have?_ Ryan stares more.

"...but Ryan hasn't *rejected* Spencer. Spencer even told us he knew Ryan was worried about him. That's the polar opposite of feeling rejected."

"Suppose a Protector's Chosen asks him to go looking for someone else." Pete says quietly. "Suppose that Chosen picks fights, pulls away, stops living and working with his Protector the way they have their whole lives."

Ryan's head is spinning. It can't be true. This can't be happening. He's worked so hard to make sure there's a place for Spencer's Chosen between him and Spencer, to make sure that Spencer won't leave him behind completely.

"Suppose this Chosen decides to prank the internet by faking his marriage to someone else." Pete continues on mercilessly. "And then stops communicating with his Protector for several weeks."

"It wasn't weeks!" Ryan protests. It wasn't, was it?

"Before Spencer came here, when was the last time you talked to him? E-mailed? Sent a text?"

"Pete!" Maggie's voice is coming from somewhere far away. "Lay off. You don't even know if Ryan's a chiroptera, and whether he is, or whether he isn't, this isn't *helping*."

It makes a macabre kind of sense, doesn't it? Spencer's always trying to give Ryan things he isn't supposed to have, doesn't deserve. And Ryan just loves to be self-destructive, bonus points if he can take somebody else down with him.

A wadded up napkin hits him in the face. Ryan looks up to see Patrick scowling at him. "That's not helping either. We'll talk to the staff about getting you tested. And we'll talk to Spencer. We *will* figure this out."

"What if it's too late?"

"They wouldn't be fighting so hard to keep to the Courtship rule if it was too late." Patrick points out. "And someone would have contacted Spencer's family."

Maggie pats his shoulder. "You came to him. You've been here a couple of days. If Pete's right, that's got to have helped."

Ryan can't be here anymore. He stands up and makes his way back to Spencer's room. The chair's too far away. He climbs into the bed, curling up with Spencer, the way they did when they were kids. Spencer mumbles, but doesn't pull away.

"Why didn't you tell me you needed me?" he whispers. "You know I'm a fuck-up."

  
**   
_#####_   
**   


Spencer wakes up to find Ryan curled up against him and Patrick sitting in a chair at the foot of his bed.

"Hey Sleeping Beauty," Patrick says. "You missed breakfast. They'll bring you a tray if you hit the call button."

Spencer doesn't want to wake Ryan, but something about Patrick's body language tells him it's more of an order than a suggestion. He presses the call button. Patrick stays silent until Spencer is sitting up in bed looking at his breakfast. Ryan is still sleeping, his head now tucked in against Spencer's hip. Apparently all the sleep he's been losing worrying over Spencer has finally caught up with him.

"Do you want to tell me why the nurse I asked about getting Ryan a DNA test looked so very relieved?"

Spencer's blood runs cold. His second instinct is to cover Ryan's ears but he does have enough brain available to know that's a stupid idea. "What the fuck, Patrick!"

"No? Then maybe you want to tell me why the idea of Ryan being a dragon makes you look like you're going to run for the hills."

There are few objects more immovable than an implacable Patrick Stump. Spencer is well and truly backed into a corner. "Has he been tested already?"

"He's going to get tested whether you like it or not." Patrick says. "And we've already brought up the idea with him."

"This is none of your business."

"So the staff keep telling me. Did you really think the Courtship rule would fly with me? Do you have any idea how monumentally pissed at Ryan Pete is right now?"

"This isn't Ryan's fault!"

That, of course, is when Ryan chooses to wake up. He pets clumsily at Spencer's knee. "Sp'nce?"

Ryan's head is at the perfect height for Spencer's left hand to come down and pet his hair. It happens almost before Spencer's aware he's doing it. "Hey. You brought reinforcements, huh?"

Ryan pulls himself up to sit next to Spencer, keeping absolutely no space between his right side and Spencer's left. "I had to do something." He explains. "You were fading away right in front of me and nobody would tell me anything. I thought maybe they didn't want to talk to the human."

"They weren't too keen on talking to the dragons, either." Patrick puts in. "Until I told them Ryan wanted to get tested for chiropteric genes, and suddenly there's a nurse available to do the test whenever Ryan wakes up and we'll know tomorrow morning at the very latest."

Ryan's looking at him. Spencer forgets sometimes that the best friend ability to read one another goes both ways. "Why aren't you happy about this?" Ryan asks. And then more quietly. "Why didn't you just *tell* me?"

The question Ryan isn't asking of course is "don't you want me?" but Spencer is possibly the only person on the planet who has managed to train Ryan into knowing that Spencer *does* want him, *does* like having him around. So mostly what he's doing right now is confusing the fuck out of Ryan.

"Look, I know everyone's adding up two plus two and coming up with four but I swear you're all getting it wrong." He can't help giving Ryan a one-armed hug. "Yes, my body's been confused into thinking that Ryan's my Chosen and that he's rejecting me, but that's all it is. Confusion. Fixation. I didn't let them tell Ryan because I knew he'd go getting all irrationally guilty when the test came back negative."

By now Patrick just has his head in his hands. "I am so glad I wasn't this blind about Pete. He'd be long dead."

Ryan isn't any less confused. "Why are you so sure?"

"To start with there's the fact that you're straight."

"I know your diary explains basic dragon biology." Patrick sounds totally exasperated. "You haven't actually even been through puberty yet, and neither has he. That's what Shift *is*."

"I know that, but..." There's a reason Spencer doesn't talk about this. Emo and melodrama are way more Ryan's thing than his. If he says any of this out loud he's going to sound lame.

"You know what?" Ryan announces suddenly. "I think Patrick's right and you're being a moron. I'm going to go get tested, and then I'm getting some coffee, and when I come back you're going to explain to me what is going on in your stupid head and I'm going to kick your ass."

He doesn't quite flounce out of the room but it's close.

"I'm a little more rational about this than Pete is, so I'm not actively blaming either of you. I am going to ask you this, though. When the test comes back positive – and you are literally the only person involved who thinks it won't, I'm sure if I called up Brendon to ask if you and Ryan were destined to be together for all time he'd be laughing too hard at the stupid question to actually say yes – will you be able to get over yourself?"

It's not actually a question Spencer has ever asked himself. His half-formed daydreams of growing old with Ryan died an abrupt death the day he found himself in the new and awkward position of *not* being the person who made Ryan happiest. It's true that he can't imagine what life would be like without Ryan somewhere in his life, but it's also true that he's not what Ryan needs

A small part of him wants to say "even if Ryan's a chiroptera he's not necessarily my mate" but Spencer isn't willing to do that to Ryan. It's still *logical* - Spencer could still be fixating on Ryan because he's the chiroptera Spencer's been around the longest – but there's protecting Ryan and then there's actively pushing him away. Spencer wouldn't be any more able to do that in the face of test results than he was when Ryan showed up in his doorway a couple of days ago.

"I'd try."

"You'd better do more than try. You make Ryan feel like you're settling, that he's only second best... we're going to have more than one case of rejection sickness on our hands."

Spencer sits up straighter. "Ryan has *never* been second best to me."

"Then I suggest you let me send in your doctor to talk to you today about how two pre-Shift chiropteri can fix this without the option of a full Claiming, instead of tomorrow."

Spencer's just not ready for that yet. "I need to talk to Ryan first."

  
**   
_#####_   
**   


Ryan brings back two coffees. All the nurses needed was a couple of cheek swabs, it hadn't taken very long. He's a little embarrassed at how effusive the one who did the actual swabbing was about how he's "doing the right thing".

Patrick and Spencer are having some sort of stare-off. Patrick's winning, mostly because Spencer's starting to droop again. "Go away and quit torturing my Spencer."

Both of them raise eyebrows. It's not until Patrick takes his leave that Ryan realizes what he said. Spencer's still looking at him funny, but Ryan's not going to take it back.

"Even if the test comes out negative, you're still my Spencer. I made Brendon promise not to break you."

"You're ridiculous." Spencer makes grabby hands at the coffee. "Brendon's not going to break me, he plays nice with his instruments."

"It's so wrong that I'm more reassured by that sentence than I am offended on your behalf. And you're only getting this if you promise to eat all of your breakfast."

"Ryan, they haven't let me have coffee since I got in this place. Hand it over."

His options are to keep the coffee out of Spencer's hands and sit in the chair until he eats something, or set the coffee on the rolling tray with Spencer's breakfast and climb back into bed with him. "Fine, but I'm still making you eat."

"This is still my bed you know," Spencer tells him as he settles in.

"Gain back some weight and maybe there won't be any room for me." Ryan taps the tray. "Eat."

Spencer tears at a muffin, but eventually some of it makes it into his mouth. That bullying is working on Spencer is a good sign.

"The more you eat, the longer you have before I make you tell me why you're being such an idiot," he points out. Spencer starts on a tangerine.

"How are you so *bossy* all of a sudden?" he grumps.

Ryan considers the question while Spencer eats. "Once the test comes out positive and you stop being a stubborn ass, I pretty much get everything I ever wanted."

Spencer stops eating and stares at him.

"What? We used to spend whole weekends planning how we were going to run away together and what our house would look like when we were grownups."

"I guess I always thought the "running away" part was the most important part for you." Spencer says, playing with his oatmeal.

"The running away was crucial," Ryan allows, smiling at him. "But I still managed to run away with *you*. You didn't think I stayed at UNLV for my *dad*, did you? If the band didn't work out, I would have followed you to whatever college you wanted to go to."

"You had a full ride to UNLV!"

"Yeah, and if I kept my grades up I could have applied for a couple of the financial need programs out of state. Or I could have gone part-time and worked. I had it all planned out. I just never had to talk to you about it because the band happened." The confused look on Spencer's face is kind of funny.

"But..." Something dark filters into his expression. "But what about Keltie?"

And that's a curveball Ryan wasn't expecting. "What about Keltie?" It's been several months. Sure, Ryan misses his dog, but that's not exactly a good reason to get back together with Keltie.

Spencer ducks his head and mumbles something. The tips of his ears go red. Ryan elbows him gently. It's sort of fun being the emotionally functional one.

"You never smiled at me the way you smiled at her." Spencer repeats quickly.

Ryan has to squeeze him tight. It's such a Spencer thing to notice how Ryan *smiles*. "Were you seriously jealous of Keltie? How come I never noticed? You used to veto my girlfriends all the time back in high school."

"Because you had a thing for the total disasters!" Spencer flails. "She made you *happy*. I wasn't going to stand in the way of something like that."

"Keltie was like, a muse. She was more an idea than real life. You're way more than that."

"You hardly saw anybody else when you were in the same room."

"And then we broke up."

"And you went to Jon!"

"Because I was trying to give you space!"

"Why would I need space from you?"

"I was trying to make room for your Chosen!"

Spencer blinks. Ryan blinks back. Then they're suddenly talking at the same time. "Our telepathy is broken."

They laugh until Spencer almost falls off the bed. Ryan has to haul him back, and he spends some time holding Spencer close as they catch their breath.

Eventually he remembers that Spencer still has plenty of breakfast to finish. Ryan grabs the rest of the tangerine off of the tray and starts handing him sections.

"And you say I'm a mother-hen," he grumbles, but takes what he's given.

"I don't get to take care of you very often," Ryan points out, feeling a little guilty about how *pleased* he feels that Spencer is accepting his help. "And..."

"If you say anything about this being your fault, I swear to God I will shove you out of this bed."

"I..."

"I will dump my oatmeal over your head and get Pete to post pictures over the internet." He'd do it too, Ryan knows that look. But he has to get his two cents in.

"It's called *rejection* sickness, Spencer." He says stubbornly. "You wouldn't be like this if you didn't think I was rejecting you."

"Yes, and if someone had brought up the idea of getting you tested sooner we could have skipped the whole mess." Spencer sends a dark glare at the doorway, presumably at Patrick. "Of course, the band thing would have been a hell of a lot more complicated."

Ryan ignores the second part for the moment. "So you believe us?" It's stupid and needy, but he needs to hear the words.

"Ryan," Spencer looks a little helpless, searching for an explanation. "When we were kids and you used to come sleep at my place? I used to feel so guilty, because even though it always meant something bad had happened, I couldn't help being happy every time. I loved having you with me, knowing you were safe and you trusted me to *keep* you safe." He shrugs a little. "It's like you said. Whether or not the test comes back positive, you're *mine*. I've spent a lot of time this year trying convince myself I should let you go, give you space to do your own thing. It didn't work very well. And if you really don't want me to give you space..."

"Really, really don't." Ryan says, poking him with each word. "Never did."

"Okay, okay!" Spencer laughs, squirming a little but not pulling away. "You really want to stay with me, I'm not going to say no. I mean, I still don't have any real urge to jump your bones, but Patrick's right, it's pretty early for that. "

"Except," Ryan frowns, remembering more from the diary. "Isn't that the cure for rejection sickness?"

"Dude, your cock maybe larger than most but I'm pretty sure it's not actually *magic*." Spencer teases. Ryan can feel his cheeks reddening. "I don't think it's the sex part of a Claiming that's important here. And we can't be the first pre-Shift kids to end up with rejection sickness or the staff wouldn't be quite so glad to test you for chiroptera genes. There's got to be another way to convince my body that you're not rejecting it."

He gestures at the remains of his breakfast. "This is double the amount of solid food they've tried to feed me since the day I arrived, so clearly they think you being here is going to keep me from throwing it all up." He eyes the glass lurking at the edge of the tray. "Of course, they still included the nutritional supplement."

"And you're going to drink it all." Ryan insists. "I'm going to find your doctor." He starts to move, but Spencer doesn't let him get very far.

"I have a call button." He says, clamping a hand on Ryan's shoulder. "Stay."

It's not a request Ryan wants to refuse. He settles back next to Spencer.

  
**   
_#####_   
**   


Dr. Kaplan doesn't have time for a visit until well after lunch, which makes Ryan fidget, but Spencer figures that means he's off the high-priority list and that's definitely a good thing. The Unholy Trinity come by long enough to announce that they're taking over Ryan's hotel room to nap and will see them tomorrow unless something comes up. Pete looks insufferably smug and Spencer's glad the other two get him out before he can start in on the "I told you so"s.

He "helps" Ryan with the crossword while they wait, mainly reading questions out loud while Ryan chews on a pen and meditates on the answer. If they had a bag of candy and were on a bus or in Spencer's mom's backyard instead of in a hospice bed, it would be just like any afternoon they used to spend together. Heads bent together and not particularly interested in anything going on outside of their little bubble. It's familiar and comfortable. Spencer's more relaxed than he's been in weeks.

When Dr. Kaplan comes in, she's got a clipboard and a handful of pamphlets with her. Ryan's cheek twitches just a little. _We're going to get a lecture._

Spencer nudges him with his shoulder. _The less you talk the faster she gets it over with._

"Now obviously, we can't be one hundred percent sure that Ryan has the chiroptera gene until the test results come back," she starts. "But given what we spoke about when you were admitted, and considering that I've been told you managed to get through most of breakfast and lunch and you haven't napped at all today, I think we can safely start discussing the next step."

She passes the pamphlets to Ryan. Spencer peers over his shoulder. One looks like a list of foods, another has something to do with exercises... and there's one from a real estate agent. He looks up sharply. "You want us house-hunting??"

"The two of you are going to need to spend a lot of time alone in close proximity for at least the next three weeks. Some Protectors who end up in difficult or unusual pairings have been known to find or build a residence or "nest" as a safe and secret place to bring his or her chosen Supportive back to as part of the Search and Courtship process, but considering your ages and how little you've actually been on Search..."

Oh. Spencer grins. "I guess I got *something* right. We won't need an agent."

"I thought you were staying at Brendon's." Ryan says.

"I am. I didn't buy a house in LA." He still doesn't want to talk about it much in front of the doctor, but she smiles understandingly.

"Protectors tend to be quite secretive about their nests. As I said, they're usually part of a difficult or unusual pairing and the fewer people who know about a nest, the safer their Supportive will be." She makes a note. "Now, as I said, you should make arrangements to be out of touch with most people for three weeks at a minimum. Divide the tasks up as you feel most comfortable. In my experience, Ryan, you'll probably feel better if you handle most of Spencer's care, and Spencer will probably want to handle things like travel arrangements and security..."

Spencer's already tuning her out a little, thinking about who needs to be told what and when. There's an unlisted landline at the house, they can hand that out to Pete and company, Spencer's family, Brendon and Jon for emergencies and just turn off the phones. Thankfully, Pete and Brendon won't need much of an explanation for why Panic will have to hold off on going into the studio for a while...

"So you're not going to, induce Shift or something?" Ryan's question brings Spencer back to the real world.

"Oh goodness no!" Dr. Kaplan laughs. "That's something best left to nature. With the trauma you've both put yourselves through I don't imagine you'll have long to wait. Spencer will probably Shift very soon after his twenty-third birthday, and pairs that have spent their childhoods together almost always Shift together or close to it. You'll be within a month or two of each other."

"Just out of curiosity," Spencer can't help asking. "How many chiropteri actually Shift at twenty-three?" He doesn't have to look at Ryan to know he's rolling his eyes.

"I only know of three cases in the last hundred years, and all of them were early trauma-induced Shifts."

"I get it." Ryan says dryly. "I overreacted."

"Just sayin'."

"Uh huh." He turns his attention back to Dr. Kaplan, waving the pamphlets. "So is this all I have to know about Care and Feeding of the Wild Spencer?"

"It should be. If anything comes up that you can't deal with, my business card is in there. Now, unless you gentlemen have any other questions, I'll see you tomorrow morning with the test results. I suggest you take Spencer out for some fresh air this afternoon. Our gardens are quite lovely and I don't think you've had the opportunity to enjoy them yet."

Spencer's not happy about spending more time in the wheelchair, but it's policy and it makes Ryan happy, so that's good enough. After an afternoon soaking up the sun, not only does he not feel nauseous at the thought of food, he's actually hungry.

They spend the evening planning. There's no question of Ryan going back to his hotel room. The staff find him something clean to sleep in, and the two of them take over Spencer's bed with their laptops. Spencer books a flight home and arranges for a rental car. He emails Brendon and his mom, glossing over the details of exactly how sick he's been. He drafts something for Ryan to say to Jon, but mostly it involves "Pete is going to call you, I swear it's not a joke." since they don't have time for a full explanation anyway.

Ryan mostly just plugs in the list of Spencer-appropriate foods into the Grocery Gateway account somebody talked him into setting up. Spencer gives him the address, but only after making him swear not to Google it. He still wants to surprise Ryan a little.

The bed's a little small for two, but Spencer has no trouble getting to sleep with Ryan by his side.

Ryan's positive test results come with breakfast and Spencer can't help hugging him tight. He hadn't really doubted anymore, exactly, but having it in black and white is... it's almost a written declaration that Ryan belongs with him.

  
**   
_#####_   
**   


It's a good thing Ryan's driving, because Spencer can't take his eyes off his expression from the moment they pull up to the gate.

"You bought this place?" Ryan says, incredulously. "It looks like an estate!"

"The fence makes it look bigger than it is," Spencer says modestly. "Come help me with the gate."

Ryan's clearly tickled by the old-fashioned nature of the gate. Laying the bar across it from the inside turns his grin into something blinding.

"Lots of room for dogs," he observes as they drive up to the house. "Is the roof going to be our own personal landing site?"

"Could be," Spencer muses. "Or we could just lay landing lights up the driveway."

"Ooh." Ryan contemplates this as Spencer gets out his keys.

"It's not finished," he warns, suddenly hesitant. "I haven't done much to the place, and there's not much furniture."

"You bought it for us," Ryan shrugs. "You couldn't finish it without me."

Spencer grins enough that his cheeks ache. He probably looks like a dork, but Ryan's seen worse. He opens the front door and starts the tour. They go through the empty open plan living room/dining room area, two bedrooms and bathrooms quickly. The art studio actually makes Ryan blush. "You know I only mess around a little."

"You need space to mess around in," Spencer informs him firmly. The size of the kitchen gets him a teasing smile, and then he's leading Ryan down the stairs to the basement. Ryan approves of the wine cellar, of course, but it's as empty as the upstairs. "This whole space used to be the wine cellar," Spencer explains, before opening the next door. "It's split into three now. There's another room that's already halfway to a recording studio. But this is the room I wanted to show you."

Spencer thought the room looked perfect when he last inspected it, but he was wrong. Perfect is seeing Ryan look around at the place he's created for the two of them with absolute awe.

"This is..." For a moment, Ryan is speechless, taking in the colours and textures. "When they talked about a nest... this is... exactly what I pictured." At that, Spencer has to touch him, sliding his arms around Ryan's waist and leaning his head on Ryan's shoulder. "It's secret, safe... but it's warm, cozy. A living space, not a prison."

"So it's okay? You're not going to mind spending a few weeks here with me?"

Ryan turns in his embrace, his expression soft and serious. "It's home, Spencer. It's perfect."

He tilts his head up a little and Spencer tilts down. Their first kiss doesn't spark fireworks, or even feel particularly passionate. But it's warm and slow and it's everything Spencer's never imagined. It's something to build on.


End file.
